The Grindelwald Affair - Or How It All Began
by Ernstisatide
Summary: Ever wondered who Grindelwald was or whether the date of his defeat in 1945 was a mere coincidence? Here you will find out.
1. A meeting in a pub

**The Grindelwald affair or how it all began **

**by Chris Ernst**

_In this story, you will find out many interesting facts about the wizarding world. Among other things you will learn for instance how the subject of "Muggle Studies" came to be  introduced into the Hogwarts curriculum, who Grindelwald was and why Voldemort, even at the height of his powers, was scared of taking on Dumbledore. There is also a lot of wizard history & adventure, but no romance whatsoever (with the possible exception of hints at the love life of Minerva McGonagall's father at Hogwarts) _

_Usual disclaimer: This story was written for the pure enjoyment of the reader to provide them with something until Book 5 is finally published. There is no financial interest involved. Most of the last names are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, the first names belong mostly to me (with the exception of Albus Dumbledore). However, this story is copy-right protected in the sense that I do not want people to take the whole or part of it and publish it on the WEB under their own names! (Sad to have to write something like that, but it has happened!)_

**Chapter 1: A meeting in a pub**

In the early morning hours of January, 5th, 1945, all London had disappeared under a dense fog. After more than five years of war, the streets had a shabby and forlorn look and the gloomy atmosphere was not improved by an icy drizzle that chilled everyone in the streets to the bone. Few people, most of them in one kind of uniform or other, hurried past the door of an uninviting-looking pub – '_The Leaky Cauldron_' - which none of them seemed to notice, however. Some time after the milkman on his horse-drawn cart had placed a single bottle of pale milk in front of the few undamaged houses, a small black Morris drove up the street and its driver inexpertly parked it opposite the pub. He leaned over, rolled down the window on the passenger seat and looked suspiciously up and down the street. The man behind the wheel wore a hat and had raised the collar of his coat, so that his face could not be recognized. Waiting anxiously for several minutes, probably until the coast was clear, he got out of his car, hurried across the street and disappeared into the pub. 

The shabby common room was deserted at this time of day, save for a grumpy looking man behind the bar, obviously the landlord, and a large cat that slept close to a roaring fire in the chimney. The stranger lowered his collar and took off his hat. He was a young man in his mid twenties with blond hair, blue eyes and a lot of freckles. He walked to the fire and gratefully warmed his hands. 'You keep a healthy fire, considering the fact that we have had fuel rationing since 1939', he remarked to the landlord, who eyed him suspiciously. 'Well, I got to live, haven't I? So it must be possible for people to come to my pub, mustn't it?', was the curt reply. Ignoring the bewildered look on the other's face, he added as if in an afterthought 'Still, a muggle like you wouldn't know about that, would he now? How did you find my pub in the first place, I wonder?  Muggles isn't supposed to notice it from their side of London after all.' 

Hearing this, the young man looked somewhat uncomfortable and a drop of sweat appeared just below his hairline. 'I am supposed to meet somebody here', he replied hesitantly, '...his name is Albus Dumbledore. My instructions here state to tell this to Tom, the landlord'. 'That's obviously you', he added with an effort at politeness. 'What instructions might that be and what's more important, who might you be?', growled the landlord in reply, looking even more suspicious than before. The stranger looked embarrassed but soon regained his courage. 'My name is Peter Parkinson and I am a first lieutenant in His Majesty's Secret Service', he said smugly. Obviously, this answer did not impress Tom in the least, so he went on quickly, 'I know, this sounds a bit crazy, old chap, but last night a huge eagle owl suddenly sat in front of my lodging's window in Putney and this was tied to her foot.' He produced a small roll of parchment from his pocket and reluctantly handed it to the landlord who studied it keenly. He had read it so often in the last 24 hours that he now knew it by heart. It read:

Lieutenant Peter Parkinson, Esq.                                     January, 3rd, 1945

The Aspidistra Boarding House 

2nd floor, third window on the Right

Putney

Dear Sir, 

I have to meet you immediately on a matter of the utmost urgency concerning recent events on the continent you are also aware of. Come to the Pub "Leaky Cauldron" on Oxford Street, January, 5th, no later than 7 a.m.. (I have modified the charm protecting the premises, so you will have no trouble finding it). Present this note to Tom, the landlord and expect me in his backroom. I must impress upon you to come alone and speak to no-one of this until we have met. 

Sincerely

Albus Dumbledore.

Taken aback by the sudden silence, Peter made an attempt at conversation. 'Now that you mention it, I do indeed often come to this part of the city, but I have never before noticed your pub on this street. Have you been in business long?' 'Family's bought the place from a distant relative of Morgan le Fay right after the last Romans left, must have been about 1.500 years ago', grunted Tom absent-mindedly, still concentrating on the paper. Looking up, he continued 'Legend has it though that an inn has stood on this very spot since the Druids' time. Boudicca herself supposedly stayed there on several occasions. My grandmother used to tell me when I was little that she was so pleased with the mulled mead that she left her signed portrait yonder in thanks. Quite a family treasure, this is, one of the earliest known examples of wizard painting', he added proudly and pointed to a large framed picture in a dark corner.... 

All his public school and Cambridge education in history had not prepared Parkinson for this sight! His jaw dropped open as he looked dumbstruck at the painting. He could see a tall and very beautiful woman with red hair and piercing green eyes on a Celtic war chariot surrounded by what were obviously fierce-looking warriors. But this was not what caused him to doubt his sanity! Rather, it was the fact that the chariot definitely moved and the woman appeared to urge the men forward in a strange language towards a group of Roman legionaries in the left upper corner of the painting. He closed his eyes, slowly counted to ten, and reopened them, but this did not improve matters at all because meanwhile the woman in the picture had pointed a wand at the Roman Centurion - a flash of green light issued from its tip and the officer in his impressive armour collapsed immediately - apparently quite dead. His men dropped their SPQR standard, shields, javelins and swords and ran for it, closely pursued off the picture by the Celts. 

Parkinson was still staring stupidly at the now empty frame, when the landlord walked up to him. 'Yeah, she was quite a lady, old Boudicca was! If the Romans hadn't brought in African, Greek and Egyptian wizards of their own, they wouldn't have stood a chance against her! But what could one woman and a few Druids accomplish against hundreds of wizards and thousands of armed muggles like you?', he added sympathetically, pointing at the bulge below Parkinson's left shoulder where he kept his trusted service revolver. 'But let's get back to business! Your credentials seem in order and Dumbledore is a good friend of mine, so I will lead you to my secret backroom where you are to wait for him, just as the note says!' 

Having read the message, the landlord became quite friendly and very talkative. 'Soon, the first customers will starting to show up and I'm telling you they won't like it, if they find a muggle here. Would be outright bad for my pub's reputation, especially since you muggles started this funny business of killing yourselves by the millions. It's bad enough as it is with bombs falling, all these aeorothings preventing decent folk from travelling by broomstick or carpet and what not. Want to know how many protection charms I had to put on this house since '39? I'll tell you, mister, no less than 348, and in the middle of the night these spells drain a man's energy, especially if he has to put in a hard day's worth of work afterwards', he grumbled. 'And since the Germans started lobbing these racket things over last summer, I expect to do some more of them before this business is finished. Don't envy the poor chaps of the Ministry's Emergency Building Protection Squad. Out on duty every night nowadays and still can't seem to cope. Only last night, for instance, a whole wing of Gringott's Bank in Diagon Alley was blasted all to smithereens by one of them rackets and not a thing they could do about it. I hear, the goblins are very upset and will file a formal complaint with the Ministry today to end this madness, can't wait until the Prophet arrives. I think it's high time you muggles came to your senses and stopped this!' 

Suddenly he became very thoughtful, however. 'Still, there is some of us who delight in this mass killing of muggles, say it's the best thing happening to us since the invention of broomsticks. I overheard a conversation between two distinguished-looking customers the other night, who actually said something about "ridding the island of all surviving muggles, once their war is over and take over Britain as an abode for the 'superior wizard race'". He sneered derisively. 'If you ask me, we have been getting along with the muggles here for two thousand years and in my opinion, we should help them, because what those Germans do is outright evil, and I wouldn't be surprised one bit, if scores of dark wizards were actually helping them. Think about it, man, one tiny country, defeated in the last war and now fighting the whole world and here they are, still hanging on. How can they do it without powerful magical help, that's what I'm wondering?

My friend Dumbledore thinks the same and he and I have had many a quiet chat together on the issue. And there is many others like us, mind you, take Robert McGonagall or Herbert Weasley for once. Both have argued since '35 to anyone who would listen that wizards should take a more active stand against what's going on in Germany. I guess that they and Dumbledore always suspected that some dark wizards was helping those Nazi types. But Bob and Bert don't show up here much anymore these days - with the war and all', he said, a note of regret in his voice, 'especially since little Minerva and little Arthur were born - must have been in 40 and 43, or was it 39 and 44? Anyway, with the children and all, both have decided to take the whole family back to the country and I can't blame them - safest thing to do right now, if you ask me. From what I know, Herbert went back to where his folks have been living for the last 800 years, place called _Ottery St. Catchpole_ somewhere in Kent, and Bob now, I can't even remember where Robert went..... And there is Harold Potter, of course, don't know what Dumbledore would do without him...., but where was I? Yes, helping the muggles against the Germans. As I was telling you, I and some others are all for it, but if you want my guess, there is no hope of that happening soon with old Lucifer Malfoy in charge at the Ministry and Octavian Snape as head of the Aurors, not to mention all the scum, those two have been appointing to jobs at the Ministry. Would you believe, they have made Vincent Goyle and Herman Crabbe judges on the wizard court? Those two are so slow, they have trouble figuring out the headlines of the Daily Prophet and neither of them can work even the simplest of spells properly - for lack of brains!', he growled.

Opening and clothing his mouth like a freshly-caught carp on the cook's table, Parkinson, kept furiously pinching his upper leg, hoping to wake up from this. Not too gently, Tom took him by the arm and steered him into a much smaller room at the back of the main one. Once there, Parkinson collapsed into a chair and struggled for breath. 'But here I am, forgetting all my manners', said Tom cheerfully, 'I do run a pub after all! What would you like to wet your throat with? It's on the house!' Parkinson was in no condition to answer and kept staring at Tom, muttering something like 'So, it's true, so it's all true, wizards and witches and.......' 'Tell, you what, secret muggle, with that weather outside, I'd best get you a nice pint of butterbeer. Will warm your insides a bit and you look like you need it. We consider it a children's drink, begging your pardon sir, but I'm afraid a pint of mulled ale might knock you right off your feet this early in the day and considering the state you're in. But first, I'll get you a little fire to warm yourself and make things a little easier for Dumbledore - no use for him being spotted in the main room with a muggle by some Ministry git.' 

He produced what was unmistakably a wizard's wand from somewhere and pointed it at the much smaller fireplace in this room. '_Incendio_', he shouted and suddenly there roared a large fire where only moments before had been nothing but old ashes. '_Accio butterbeer_', came the second shout and Parkinson could have sworn he saw a pint glass fly in through the door and place itself at the table in front of him. 'I hear someone entering the common room', said Tom, 'so I'll leave you here to wait for Dumbledore', he added and turned to go. 

'Oh, I almost forgot, you won't be needing your muggle wand in here. Not that a muggle could hurt Dumbledore, but you might try something foolish and cause a row and my customers won't like that at all, so I can't have it.' He pointed his wand at a now panic-stricken Parkinson. '_Accio_', he shouted once more. Parkinson felt the seams on his treasured pre-war tweed jacket burst open and watched incredulously as his revolver seemed to worm its way out of a large hole below his left armpit and sail right into Tom's outstretched hand. 'You can pick it up, once you leave, I'll take good care of it, don't worry', Tom grumbled reassuringly and disappeared. 

In later years, Parkinson never remembered how he had spent the next half hour or so, except for the uncontrollable shakes that seemed to seize his body every other minute. Finally, he pulled himself together and nipped suspiciously at the frothing drink in front of him, half expecting to be turned into a toad or some other dreadful thing in the next moment. At once, a soothing warmth spread through his whole body and he felt much calmer and reassured, ... but not for long! 

'Tom added a little soothing potion to the butterbeer, I thought he would....', said a cheery voice from the direction of the chimney. Young Parkinson turned around and dropped his glass on the stone floor where it broke of course, spilling its contents all over his new trousers (that he had only yesterday picked up from the cleaners). He felt his knees giving way and had to hold on to the table. In the middle of the fire sat what was undoubtedly the human head of a friendly young man about his age with long auburn hair and a matching auburn beard. 'One moment', the head continued, smiling, 'I'd better get out and talk to you face to face, since you appear uncomfortable with this way of conversation'. "Uncomfortable" was however a gross understatement for the feelings haunting poor Parkinson at this moment. Dumbfounded, he watched as the young man seemed to appear piecemeal from the ashes - first the shoulders, then arms and torso, and finally his legs became visible. After he had climbed out of the fireplace, Parkinson saw that he was wearing a pointed black hat, midnight blue robes and high boots made of some tough leather. The stranger first dusted some soot off his clothes rather carelessly and then pulled large bag of toffees out of a pocket. 'Pre-war stuff', he remarked proudly, 'impossible to get these days'. After serving himself generously, he offered them to Parkinson who weakly shook his head. 'What...., how....., who....?', he stammered, but the man ignored him. 'I suggest, we sit down and get you a new drink first', he said pleasantly, 'much more comfy that way, don't you agree?' Parkinson managed a weak nod. 

The door opened and Tom reappeared, carrying a tray with two large steaming mugs and two tumblers like any ordinary landlord in Britain would. 'Hello, Albus, good to see you again, I see you already found your muggle friend', he said with a mischievous grin, showing several missing teeth. 'Here is two mugs of mulled ale and I thought you could both do with a shot of Ogden's Old Fire Whisky , especially young Parkinson here', he added. 'Special treat by the way - stuff is harder and harder to come by in times like this.' 

Dumbledore thanked him and waited until he had left. Then he pulled out a wand, pointed it at the door and shouted '_Secretio!_'. 'Just a little precaution', he explained to a bewildered Parkinson, 'as long as we are in here, no-one will be able to eavesdrop without my knowing it, and now Cheers!' He raised his mug and took a deep draught. 'Ah, that's better!', he sighed. 'So you have decided to come after my first owl ?- 'Surprising quite surprising', he chuckled, 'I had thought a little more – say persuasion- would be necessary. In fact, I have already made reservations at the Hogsmeade post office for two barn owls tonight. If you still had not come, it would have been four the next day and so on.....quite proven tactics, actually', he added, grinning mischievously. 

'Erh, I am not exactly here in my official capacity', replied Parkinson uncomfortably. 'Matter of fact, if my immediate boss Colonel Saunders-Blankinson and the others ever find out what I am up to right now, I'll be spending the rest of my war locked away in a lunatics' asylum.', he added miserably. But as if all of a sudden reminded of the urgency of the matter at hand, Parkinson regained some of his courage. 

Pointing an accusing finger at Dumbledore, he continued harshly 'I hope, you are aware of the fact, sir, that more than forty agents of his majesty's Secret Service, not to mention every policeman in the country, are at this very hour looking for the lunatic who keeps sending owls with letters attached to the War Office. What's more, these 'letters' or had I better say 'parchments' appear to contain information that is now classified "_Top Secret – War Cabinet Eyes Only_", he added sarcastically! Current theory in the Service is that it's a cunning plot by the Germans to cause a panic in the population, once the first civilian or enlisted man gets a hold of this piece of information. Can you even imagine what havoc it would wreak if we had to tell a war-weary population out there, not to mention our brave allied soldiers fighting their way into Germany against mounting resistance at this very moment, that we are not only up against the most evil and determined enemy we have ever faced, but that dark magic has now been added to the list of our troubles! 

What do you suppose would soldiers feel like if they knew that the Germans now have men who can set a tank ablaze, knock down a plane or even kill soldiers over a considerable distance by simply pointing a wand at them? Oh yes, and I almost forgot the most disquieting aspect of all, ... some of them seem to be able to change shapes and _'turn'_ themselves at will into any men on our side by some devilry. In the recent battle of the Bulge, there were supposedly Germans disguised as American soldiers. What is not commonly known, however, is the puzzling fact that every one of them was the _identical _twin of a real American soldier killed several days before in the initial attack. That's quite a scary prospect, you know, if men start mistrusting their senior officers because they do not know who they really are any more. 

Several days before the battle, a man was arrested by our MP who had tried to sneak into a tent where Field Marshal Montgomery had had a haircut a while before of all things. He aroused suspicion because he was wearing a woman's dress and said he was an ardent fan of the marshal. Mentioned that all he wanted was a lock of his hair! They locked him up and had him checked by a shrink to determine, whether he was fit enough to be court-martialled and shot, but the next day the fellow had somehow managed to disappear from an underground concrete cell, though the guards swore holy oaths that they had not left their posts all night. I'm telling you here and now, if these things leak out to the troops or the civilian population, we have had it, old chap, despite five years of suffering and sacrifice and victory finally in the cards! We might as well surrender tomorrow to prevent further unnecessary deaths!' 

Dumbledore had listened patiently without once interrupting, but occasionally muttering things to himself Parkinson could not make any sense of like '_Polyjuice Potion_..., should have known it, a German invention after all..' or '_Disapparated_, of course...'

After Peter had finished, Dumbledore sighed: 'You find yourself in good company, Peter,... and by all means, do call me Albus. By sending these owls to the muggle War Office, I have broken every single paragraph of the 1940 _British Wizards' Non-Interference and Neutrality Act_ and if they catch me, I will be spending my days in a place much, much more uncomfortable than a muggle loony bin, if not worse!' He shuddered at the thought of something very unpleasant and went on. 'Before I will tell you more, I need to know one thing, however. What made you, a bright young man with a Harrow and King's College background, get up in last Tuesday's War Cabinet meeting and suggest that all these alarming things you just mentioned might in fact be what they appear, namely the result of true magic? Very courageous of you, I must admit, but after all you were not there to voice your opinion but to take notes for Saunders-Blankinson in his function as one of the senior heads of the Secret Service! You were thrown out of the meeting before you could blink an eye of course, what else could they have done? Chaps were very decent, though. After you had gone, Churchill himself said you had probably been through too much, considering your record in the SAS and what not. In fact, he ordered Saunders-Blankinson in so many words not to punish you but sent you out to a nice quiet pasture for the rest of the war where you could not do any damage. I'm sorry to say so, Peter, but you have put your foot in and your career in his majesty's Secret Service is as good as over. As a matter of fact, I have seen the orders you will receive tomorrow. Starting next Monday, you will be giving pep talks on the war to Scottish schoolchildren in Aberdeen and the whole thing is headed '_Permanent Assignment'_ and yes, your security clearance has already been revoked, of course!'

Hearing this, Parkinson again lost his composure as he was seized anew with an uncontrollable spell of the shakes, which were clearly not the result of the information related to his future career. 'How... do... you...know.... of...that....top... secret....meeting?', was all he could manage to say between clenched teeth. 'Is nothing safe any more, for god's sake?' 

Dumbledore grinned maliciously: 'Remember that Anthony Eden did not say a word in that meeting, but just listened attentively, Parkinson? Well, that was me! I thought it important to be...-how shall I put it? – where the action was to determine my further steps. Piece of cake, really, any sixth year student could have done it. Got hold of some of Eden's hair from his barber, brewed a generous helping of Polyjuice potion and sat in on the meeting, while the real Anthony Eden was soundly asleep in his forgetfulness-charm protected office. The tricky part was to put my memories of the meeting back into his mind and combine it with a powerful memory charm..., had to use a pensieve for that. But alas, the meeting was quite a disappointment! All of them, except for you of course, refused point-blank to believe the obvious, even as the truth was grinning in their faces. After hours of discussion, they now agree that the knocked-down planes and destroyed tanks are a new German secret weapon, the dead soldiers without any injury were due to combat fatigue and that the disguised Americans of the Bulge are an elaborate scheme by the Germans involving separated identical twins, using some scientific records, they must somehow have gotten a hold of.... Quite hopeless to bet money on that horse, Peter! They will only believe, if some dark wizard is pointing his wand at them and by then it will be much too late, I'm afraid. But back to my question, what made you do it? I heard your voice in there, a bit timid, yes, but you sounded as if you sincerely believed what you suggested! It was almost as if you had fact backing you if that were at all possible.'

Parkinson had blushed and began to draw little figures on the floor with the tip of his left calfskin shoe. 'I never breathed as much as a word of this to anyone before', he said in a rather uncertain voice. 'Fact of the matter is, I knew, there was magic and witches or at least one witch left in Britain! That is, I knew before I met you and heard of the things happening on the continent, for I suppose you are a wizard?' 

'You are quite right, Peter. I am a wizard and what is more, in my normal life I teach young wizards at a school of witchcraft and wizardry, so there are many more of us besides me and Tom in case you wondered.' 


	2. Memories from the Past

**Chapter 2: Memories from the past**

Peter took a deep breath, 'Is the name of the school Hogwarts by any chance and is it located in a castle in the far North of Britain close to a wizard village called Hogsmeade? Does one get there by riding a purple train that leaves Charring Cross Station on platform 9 ¾? Are there four houses in that school called Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin and do the children really play rugby on broomsticks?', he asked quietly. 

Now it was Dumbledore's turn to be dumbfounded and a look of utter bewilderment crossed his face. 'The train leaves from King's Cross and the game is called Quidditch, not Rugby', he said in an almost toneless voice, trying to regain his composure, 'but no muggle is supposed to know the school even exists, let alone all the details you mentioned. I'm warning you Peter, you might be in great danger, if other wizards beside myself ever find out that you possess this knowledge, especially members of the current Ministry of Magic. You might easily find yourself waking up one morning with all your memory gone. The wizarding community abhors nothing more than muggles discovering their secrets. So tell me, how did you come by this information? I could _make _you tell me everything you know, believe me', he added quietly after a brief pause, 'but I'd rather you told me of your own free will....'

'Well, Peter Parkinson is only my adopted name, my real name is Lord...., well that name is really no concern of yours, Albus, so I will just leave it out. I was born in 1919 on our family estate in Devon. It was a huge place. We had a butler, two chauffeurs, several dozen staff, gamekeepers. You know, the whole lot that went with a now rapidly-disappearing lifestyle. Both my brothers, who were much older than me, got killed in the Great War, one went down with his ship at Jutland and the other was listed as missing in action somewhere near Ypres. I don't know, whether my parents had me to make up for the loss or for some other reason, but it proved too much for my mother. Died the night I was born, so I never knew her. My father was a strict but rather nice man and I did get along fairly well with him -when he was on the estate that is- but we never became really close. He was one of these people who essentially lived in the last century and never managed to cope with what had happened between 1914 and 1918 and the subsequent collapse of their accustomed world. He finally died in my first year at Cambridge, must have been in '38 right after this Austrian business. My pre-school education on the estate was entrusted to a constantly changing host of mostly foreign instructors who lived with us and whom I loathed to a man. My father stayed mostly at our London apartment at that time, idling away the days at his club and if I saw him ten days at Christmas out of the entire year, I considered myself fortunate. I became a loner and a roamer, made friends with the gamekeeper's children and went hiding in the woods for days in a row on several occasions. Had the entire staff frantically searching for me, which did not exactly increase my popularity with them.... 

To cut a long story short, those were very miserable years for me, I was very lonely and had no-one to trust. This went on until I was about 9 or 10 years old, must have been the summer of '29 or '30. The village's midwife had retired the previous winter and one day a young woman in her late twenties showed up and applied for the job. After the parson and the village teacher had pronounced her capable to fill the vacancy, she went up to the big house one day, when my father was there. He could not have cared less who was village midwife but that was what tradition required and so he endorsed the parson's recommendation, glad that at least this problem was taken off his back. 

Her name was Jenny Jameson and after a couple of weeks, she had acquired quite a reputation in the parish. Infant mortality dropped to exactly zero from the day she started and people from our parish and even neighbouring ones soon came to her with all kinds of ailments. I discovered later that she must have performed medical miracles, which would have astonished the very best physicians in Harley Street. She was mending broken bones within two hours and had cured at least forty people from tuberculosis and ten from cancer. True, some things about her were a bit odd, she kept a large toad for a pet, for instance, and if the villagers wondered how she managed to assist at one birth in a distant corner of the parish and turn up on the opposite end for a new one only seconds later, they kept it to themselves. They were quite satisfied to have her, at least the common people were, and I suppose the only one a bit disgruntled was the old parish doctor Lindsey who kept losing patients to her with the exception of all the 'educated' people of course.... 

As a lonely boy of 10, I didn't care about these things, however. What I did care about was the fact that I had found a true friend for the first time in my life. She could not have been there for more than a week, when I walked down the village street past her cottage where she was working in the garden. She had a slim built, blonde hair and brown eyes and I thought her exceedingly pretty. Looking up at me, she smiled and invited me in for the first time. Jenny fed me tea and cookies and let me play with her toad while she bustled around the house, which gleamed and blinked from tidiness. While working, she was telling me an interesting story about a dragon, a Common Welsh Green she called it, that had some centuries ago refused to fight the knights sent against it but tried to make friends with them instead. 

I soon found out that she knew more stories about witches, wizards, elves, fairies, goblins, ghosts and dragons than I dared imagine and she shared them with me on every occasion. Every once in a while, I would pest her on where she had learnt all this, but she only laughed and replied that before her training in nursing at St. Mungo's, she had been the best student in History of Magic at Hogwarts. Hearing this answer, I thought she was pulling my leg and got angry, even walked out on her once, but I kept coming back before long, of course, because I had grown very fond of her. 

In the beginning, she was very careful not to give herself away. She did all things nice and proper like washing the dishes the normal way and the same was true for her cooking. Still, I could not help but notice that sometimes she had been busy plucking a chicken or pheasant, when I walked out to fetch some wood for the stove and when I came back in after two minutes or so, the bird was already in the oven about ready to be eaten. After dinner, we would sit next to the fireplace and roast marshmallows while she told me one of her fascinating stories and often I got so scared that I did not dare walk back to the manor alone, especially when she had been telling me about giants, dragons or dark wizards. Then, she would fetch a lantern, wrap her hand around my shoulder and walk me through the village and up to the gates. Those were the happiest moments of my life up till then - actually the happiest ones ever', he added after a pause. 'I adored her clean, healthy smell and would have given a limb for these walks to go on forever. 

Some weeks later, I asked her, whether I could not stay with her for good, since nobody up at the hall seemed to care for me anyway. I at once knew I had touched a nerve there, because she looked up from the fire and two big tears were rolling down her cheeks. At first, she would have none of it, but finally she gave in and asked Caruthers the butler, whether I could sleep over occasionally. Caruthers was glad for every hour, I did not interfere with his smooth running of the household and gave his permission most gladly. I went into my savings and bribed him with two guineas not to mention the whole affair to Monsieur d'Alembert, my French teacher at that time. Since all d'Alembert cared about was being paid regularly in addition to myself showing up for classes on time (so he could write flattering letters to my father in London exaggerating my academic progress), I did what was necessary to keep him happy and I don't think he ever found out. 

So she prepared a little downstairs bedroom for me with blue-chequered blankets on a comfortable old bed. She still told me stories mostly, but sometimes we would now talk about others things, too, for I was a very sensitive boy and soon found out that there was a sadness about her, though she never mentioned the reason for it. One afternoon, she was unusually silent, and her red eyes gave away that she had been crying before I had come down to her cottage after my lessons. Nothing I could say or do seemed to cheer her up, so I finally simply walked up to her, hugged her and told her in clumsy children words how much she meant to me. At first, I thought I had done something wrong, for she broke down completely and sobbed for what appeared at least to me a very long time. Finally she blew her nose into a big red handkerchief, dried her eyes and looked up to me from where she sat. 

'You know, Peter, my dead sister had a little boy called Tom and today is his birthday and I don't even know where he is right now, nor whether he is even alive!' and she cried again. I was too shocked to answer and just kept staring at her, when she continued. 'She fell in love with a mu...-, a gentlemen from her village and they had a son. They were quite happy, but when he found out something about her, he left her and went back to his parents. She gave birth to Tom in some wretched hospital, quite alone and without any friends, and died the same night. Don't ask me what it was that made the man leave her, for I cannot tell you', she said after she saw my curious stare. 'Later I heard that the people in the hospital had sent the boy straight to an orphanage. The thought of him being unhappy there is more than I can bear, and often I can't sleep and stay awake thinking of him, for I am his only living relative on his mother's side and he can expect nothing from his father's' 

'He could stay here with you', I suggested naively, 'after all I am staying with you, we could become friends and play together.' (Of course I hoped, this would not happen, since I did not want to share her with anybody, on the other hand, I did not want to see her so sad, either.). 

'Well, for once, you would find him a bit dull', she said, a forced smile crossing her face for the first time, 'because today is only his third birthday. Besides, there are other much more complicated problems, you are much too young to understand. I would love to bring him here and raise him myself, but the people at the orphanage would definitely not give him to me', she sighed. 'There is a letter written by his grandfather…….', her voice trailed off. 

She could see that these words had hurt my feelings, so she got up and suggested a long walk in the woods to find us some mushrooms for dinner. We had just gotten ready to leave, when an old man  knocked on the door, telling her of a woman in labour in the next village and she had to leave in a hurry. This had happened several times before and on these occasions, I would prepare some sandwiches and tea and wait for her return, reading a book in front of the fireplace. 

She was back around midnight and very grateful for the little meal, I had prepared. Said she was sorry for our walk and promised to get up very early the next morning, so we could go for it before I had to return to the manor for my classes. I expect, she still thought about her nephew that night and could not go to sleep and the same happened to me because I lay awake wondering what the thing was, she would not tell me anything about. Finally, I must have dozed off... Waking up several hours later, I realized immediately that something was gravely wrong. Yawning and still rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I looked at the clock on the wall of my room and saw that it was 10 o'clock in the morning! My teacher would skin me alive! I jumped out of bed, rushed up the stairs and frantically knocked on Jenny's door, shouting "_Jenny UP, UP Jenny, we overslept, oh please do get UP!"._ Up to this day, I don't know what exactly happened, but I heard a swishing sound and incredulously watched Jenny's broom shoot from his accustomed place in the broom cupboard, fly up the stairs and right into my outstretched hand. I looked at it for a few seconds, then dropped the broom as if it were made of red-hot iron and began to scream at the top of my voice. 

Several seconds later, Jenny, still in her nightgown and yawning, opened the door and looked at me terror-struck, obviously thinking someone was roasting me alive. It took her several moments to take in the scene, then she started to laugh. This reaction struck me as so odd that I immediately stopped hollering and looked at her dumbfounded. She laughed so hard that her entire body seemed to shake and she was gasping for breath. 'Oh, Peter, and I tried so hard to hide it from you....., and look what happens! You have so much magic in you that a broom locked in a broom cupboard on the ground floor will fly right into your hand! Are you aware that you would normally need a very strong summoning charm to do that? Usually, a wizard or witch needs to stand right above the broom for the simple "Up" command to work.' 

Exultingly, she picked up the broom, rushed down the stairs, opened the front door and placed the broom on the front porch. 'Let's try it once more', she said excitedly, 'Oh, this is just wonderful! Now, hold your hand out, think of the broom and shout 'Up!''. I was still too puzzled to argue, did as I was told and yelled "Up!". The result was even more striking than before. The broom did not bother with opening the door this time, it crashed right through the window, sped up the stairs and was in my hand before I could blink an eye. 

'Unbelievable!', muttered Jenny. Let's try something else!' She reached into her nightgown, produced what was undoubtedly a wizard's wand and handed it to me. 'It might not work too well for you, since it is _my_ wand, but we will give it a try. Now, listen, one of the first things young wizards learn is to make objects fly. The spell is **'**_Wingardium Leviosa_**', **you point your wand at the thing you want to make fly like this, swish it like that and say the words. Try that bowl of apples on the table first.' 

We descended the stairs and stopped in front of the old wooden table. I had grown so excited, I couldn't wait. Pointing the wand at the table, I shouted **"**_Wingardium Leviosa_**" **at the top of my voice. I had not aimed too well, but the result was even more impressive than I had hoped for, since the heavy oak table, which must have weighed at least 500 pounds, slowly started to rise into the air and stopped hovering at about 4 feet above the ground. 'You can control it with your wand', said Jenny excitedly, and I managed to make the table do a half somersault in the air with the wand. The fruit bowl fell to the ground of course, causing me to lose control of the table as well and it crashed upside down to the floor with a deafening thud. 

Taking the wand from me, Jenny made it hover again and turned it back up. After this, she repaired the broken window by another flick of her wand. 'That's quite enough', she said, 'strictly speaking you are not supposed to do that and I am not supposed to let you, since no unqualified young wizard is allowed to do magic outside the Hogwarts grounds, besides we need to talk! But first, I will tidy up and cook us some breakfast. You wait here!' She was back in an instant and took her usual seat at the table opposite to mine. 'Peter, you have got powerful magic in you, even though both your parents are apparently muggles, which is what we call people without magical powers', she added. Then, she went on to tell me about Hogwarts and her own days at the school, while I listened fascinated with only one thought in my mind -to attend this school myself....

Peter has stopped, his lower lip was trembling now and there was a strange glitter in his eyes. Dumbledore looked kindly on him. 'Well, you know, the end was rather sad' , Peter almost choked. 'We agreed that she would talk to my father about Hogwarts, since it was time to think of a boarding school for me anyway. True to her word, she went up to the hall next time he was there and believe it or not, the old man heard her out. He was big on family history, you know, even told her that one of my ancestors in the Tudor era had supposedly been a wizard. He agreed to think the matter over and let her know. 

But then things turned sour. He went back to London and met a chap at his club named Riddle, a most unpleasant fellow, who had made his money as a war profiteer. Though father detested him, this Riddle put it in his head that wizards and magic were dangerous for normal humans, hinted darkly that he knew what he was talking about and that Jenny, in particular, was a very bad influence on me, though he would not elaborate on that point. He urged my father to see to it that I stopped having anything to do with her. Well, the old fox did exactly that and very clever he went about it, too. He sent me a cable and I took a train to visit him in London the next day. Meanwhile, he had instructed Caruthers to give Jenny a 24 hours notice on the lease of her cottage and threaten her with the police and the name "Riddle", if she made trouble. Kicking and screaming, he then took me on a trip to France and Germany and in the fall I was shipped off to Harrow instead of Hogwarts. When I returned to the manor after my first term, she was gone and I never saw her again and that's the end of it. The new life at school took all my attention, I had friends my own age for the first time, did very well in my studies and later went on to Cambridge. Then, the war started and I have been in the thick of things ever since 1940! In fact, I had almost forgotten this whole affair, when these inexplicable things started happening in France and Belgium last year.'

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. 'I will have to think very long and carefully about what you just told me, Jenny Jameson was her name, you said? I don't remember her as a student, but somehow the name "_Jameson_" rings a bell.' He was deep in thought for several seconds. 

'Oh yes', he sighed sadly, 'I am very sorry to tell you this, but a witch named Jenny Jameson was found dead about a year ago in Essex and the Ministry is still clueless as to what happened to her. All we know is that she was killed by a curse that has been outlawed in the wizard world ever since 1840!' 

Peter suddenly looked very upset and clenched the handle of his chair so tightly that his hands turned white. To distract him, Dumbledore asked kindly: 'Just out of curiosity, do you think you could still do it, I mean magic?', he added quietly. 'Why not?', replied Peter, glad for a change of subject, 'but I don't have a wand.' 'That can be mended', replied Dumbledore smiling, handing him his own. To his own astonishment, Peter made Dumbledore's Whisky tumbler hover off the table with such ease that Dumbledore gave him a surprised look. 'You know, Peter, you would have made a great and powerful wizard, if you had been able to attend Hogwarts. Your case appears actually quite unique. I bet, there hasn't been a wizard of your potential in the past 500 years, who has escaped Hogwarts' attention. I will definitely have to see, whether we can do something about that, but alas, it must wait for now. Since you have been so frank with me, I will be as frank with you, but it is rather a long tale because I must take you through almost a 1000 years of wizard history'. Glad for the distraction, Peter did not mind that in the least and listened attentively as Dumbledore began his story.


	3. Some wizard history

**Chapter 3 Some Wizard History **

'Wizards have been around for several thousand years, the old Egyptians knew them, the Romans had powerful wizards and witches of their own and in ancient times, non-magical humans and wizards generally did get along well. When the last Romans left Britain for good, many wizards, hags and witches stayed behind because they had grown fond of the place. It was a time, when wizards and sorceresses were often powerful princes in their own right with worldly powers to match their magical ones, think only of Morgan le Fay or Merlin. This continued after the Anglo-Saxon invasion. Under Harold, the last Anglo-Saxon king, the Earl of Mercia is rumoured to have been a very powerful wizard who betrayed Harold in the end. But things changed after Hastings in 1066. William the Conqueror brought his own Norman wizards with him and from then on, our history closely paralleled yours. For their assistance, William granted them huge estates and non-landed wizards were reduced to a state of virtual serfdom. Noble wizard families sat in their powerful castles, sent their children to Hogwarts, and generally spent their days either dragon-hunting or amusing themselves by torturing muggles or otherwise meddling in their affairs, while the rest of us had to work day and night for them in all kinds of capacities. The same was true for non-human magical creatures like house-elves, for instance. In fact, my own ancestors were dragon-keepers on the estate of one such lord for several hundred years. Some few were managing to hang on to their freedom like the Weasleys of _Ottery St. Catchpole_, but they were generally destitute, barely able to eke out a living from the poor soil, the Normans were not interested in. 

Those were grim times for humans and low-born wizards alike. But in the last centuries, things started to change. Many of the old families had become degenerate causing them to lose their hold on the suffering population. In addition, they had other things to keep them busy, for the goblins finally decided they had had enough and started a series of fierce rebellions, mostly in the 17th and 18th century, that required all their attention. So, in 1835, right after the first muggle parliamentary reform bills, we succeeded in coercing the lords into something that had not taken place for almost 1000 years – the Estates General of all wizards. Against the fierce resistance of the old families, we convened at the old meeting place, a moor in the North of Scotland, and there swore not to disband until we had given ourselves a constitution and a fairer, more just system of government. This Moor-Oath thus became _the _landmark of recent wizard history. We managed to draw the goblins on our side and together with them, we had the majority. The nobles then tried threatening us with the giants, but we had secretly begun to manufacture our own wands in underground workshops because a young member of the Olivander family had joined our side (wand-carrying had been up to then a privilege of the nobility). We let them know that we were quite ready for a bloodletting, if they wanted it! Faced with the prospect of an uncertain civil war they could not hope to win, the lords gave in, but still fought desperately for their privileges. 

The result was a compromise, an Upper House made up of wizard nobility retained considerable powers, but the right to pass laws rested with the Common Assembly, elected by **_all_** wizards and witches of age in secret ballot. This is maybe the only difference between us and the muggles by the way. Since there are comparatively few of us, we could never afford to disenfranchise half of our brainpower and the thought of discriminating against women in any way is therefore quite alien to us. The next years saw a steady increase in the powers of the Common Assembly, while the Lords had to grudgingly surrender one privilege after the other. Finally, in 1911, the Upper House was abolished completely and in the same year the Ministry of Magic was established because things had become so complicated that we felt a more permanent body of governing our affairs was needed. This is the broad picture, Peter, now I will come to the details.

To this day, the fiercest opponents of the new system have always been members of the Malfoy family... 'Wait a second', interrupted Peter, 'Tom was telling me that a Malfoy is Minister of Magic right now'. 'That is only too true, I'm afraid', replied Dumbledore, 'but I will come to that in a second, if you let me continue. Officially, the Malfoys trace their lineage back to one "_Godefroy de Malefoy_", who was supposedly William the Conqueror's personal wizard and friend. If that were true, it would make them indeed one of the oldest surviving wizard families in Britain. Another story has it, however, that the first muggle king of the house of Hannover, George I, had a mistress, who was a low-born, half-muggle witch named Amanda Malfy, who had jinxed her way into his favours. He had a bastard son with her and she later – er - persuaded the king to bestow on the son a title and an estate. I would strongly advise you against mentioning this version openly in the presence of a Malfoy, however, unless you want to find out what the _Cruciatus Curse _feels like or wish to die of some secret dark poison. Still, most of the true noble families, like the Crabbes and Goyles for instance, are now so degenerate that their members' wits border on the imbecile, so I am personally inclined to believe the second version, but be that as it may....., the Malfoys have always loved the dark arts and never ceased in their efforts to regain those privileges, which they thought to be rightfully theirs by birth. One or several of them have always held posts in wizard government, but they were generally controlled by a fortunate succession of very able Ministers and Ministeresses of Magic. 

We wizards watched in horror as you muggles unleashed the Great War in 1914, but as a rule took no active stand. After the war, however, we had a great Ministeress of Magic called Sybil Moody, who was in favour of improving wizard-muggle relations to prevent another such war from ever happening again. It became never official, but there are some among us who believe that she had a hand in the creation of the League of Nations by putting an agreement charm on the muggle politicians in Paris in 1919. It is also rumoured that Sybil was a close friend of the muggle prime minister Chamberlain and played a role in the 1938 Munich agreement to stop another war at the last minute and secure "peace for our time". Unfortunately, Moody was quite old by then and she was not an easy witch to get along with, was always more respected than genuinely liked, if you know what I mean. When the present war started in 1939, there was a widespread feeling that she had lost track of things. In addition, not unlike some members of the British muggle aristocracy, there were some of the old noble families with the Malfoys as usual in the lead, who secretly sympathized with the rise of the totalitarian muggle governments on the continent, especially the Nazis in Germany. As a rule, these people consider pure-blooded wizards a superior race and generally detest all muggles, but they like miserable muggles sweating under a dictatorship far better than happy muggles in a peaceful world. When the war broke out in earnest, putting an end to all of Moody's ambitious dreams for muggle-wizard relations, they executed a long-prepared plan and the more sensible of us were left with no time to react. 

Lucifer Malfoy, the present head of the Malfoys and a very shrewd and able man, called for an extraordinary session of the Common Assembly, asked for a vote of no-confidence, and ousted Moody and her government from office by a landslide victory. In the very same session, him and his cronies hammered through the _British Wizards' Non-Interference and Neutrality Act_, which made it an offence punishable by a life sentence in the wizard prison Azkaban to interfere in the muggle war on any party's behalf. In addition, Malfoy argued that the seriousness of the situation required a firm hand and that he needed extra powers to enforce the new laws. Most importantly, he was granted the right to appoint people to the Auror Department, Magical Law Enforcement and the Wizard Court without having to consult the Common Assembly first. In less than a month, he had thrown back our democratic history by almost 100 years. He appointed only pure-blooded wizards to important posts, most notably _Octavian Snake_ who was to head the Aurors and _Philip Lestrange_ as Commissioner of Magical Law Enforcement. _Lestrange_ in his turn immediately made sinister _Robert McNair_ and _William Rozier_ his deputies and so on. Then, they proceeded with their plan of getting rid of any officials, they suspected of muggle sympathies. Several Weasleys, Ian McGonagall -my friend Robert's father-, Edward Diggory and many others were forced into early retirement. 

Soon after that, the new Aurors and members of the magical Law Enforcement Department began neglecting their traditional duties, which were to fight the dark arts, but started spying on fellow wizards and witches instead, usually under the false pretext that they had engaged in pro-muggle activities. To frighten the others, some perfectly innocent witches were put into Azkaban and released after some time. The tales these women told were so frightening that most wizards and witches will nowadays think twice before putting up any opposition to the Ministry. To the outside world, Malfoy advocated strict neutrality in the war and even succeeded in signing an agreement with the German wizards in October 1940 to do the same. This treaty gave him quite a boost in popularity, even among British wizards and witches generally opposed to the old nobility. 'He kept us out of it', was and is an often heard opinion nowadays, followed by others like 'and he even succeeded in making the other European wizards do the same. Let the muggles fight it out and we will see.' 

'Personally, I believe, he did this for two reasons. First, him and his followers believed that Germany would win anyway, because that country had prepared this war for a long time, though I think Malfoy and the others do not really care who actually wins. It is rather that they believe they can manipulate a dictatorship in a future Europe by magic much more easily than a democracy. Second, and more importantly, their powers are not yet total. The Common Assembly still exists and they have as yet not succeeded in controlling Hogwarts. All Malfoy managed to accomplish was to extend _Armando Dippet_'s tenure as headmaster for the duration of the war. Now _Dippet_ was an honest and thoroughly democratic wizard in his time, but he has become quite senile and is afraid of Malfoy, who keeps pressuring him to adopt a pure-blood policy for the admission of new students. Three years ago, there was an incident at Hogwarts where some giant spider was supposedly released by a student and killed a little muggle-born first-year girl. This did not exactly improve Dippet's position and Malfoy acted as if he let him continue out of generosity and consideration. Of course a feeble, easily manipulated Dippet as headmaster of Hogwarts instead of some young, capable witch or wizard at the height of his or her powers was exactly what Malfoy had had in mind all along' he added ruefully. 

'Things appeared to look swell for Malfoy and his followers, when all of a sudden the muggle democracies and the Soviet Union began pushing the Germans back. I don't think, he has slept peacefully very often since the allied invasion last year. He knows that most of the wizarding population will only keep quiet as long as the muggle war lasts, but they will not allow him to take away everything they have fought for in the last 100 years. It was only this past august that two courageous young members of the Common Assembly, Harold Potter and Robert McGonagall, pushed through an act that made it quite clear that the Neutrality Act will be revoked the very second the muggle war is over. They even succeeded in adding an amendment that states that any member of the present wizard government, holding office under the extraordinary powers granted to Malfoy, will routinely face an inquiry into his conduct after the war. This must have shaken them up quite badly and I think, it is more than a mere coincidence that the strange things you were referring to earlier on started happening shortly after this act was passed. 

Now, there are some of us who have opposed Malfoy and his gang all along and we started our own secret investigations as soon as we suspected that the war events in France had something to do with magic. First, I contacted an old school friend of mine in Germany, a witch called _Arabella von Pritzewitz_. She made it quite clear to me that most of the German wizard community loathed the Nazis and what they did and considered themselves honour-bound by Malfoy's neutrality treaty. She hinted, however, that a renegade dark wizard named _Grindelwald_ was secretly approaching others to take a more active stand on Germany's behalf. Most refused him, but Arabella suspected that he had succeeded in gaining some followers. She also said that _Grindelwald_ was very, very powerful and did not hesitate to use torture or curses on those not convinced by his arguments. 

There are actually few wizards in Germany who can hope to withstand him. The reason for this is that Germany's wizard community is quite small, which is a result of the fact that German witch hunters in the 17th century, unlike anywhere else, managed to draw some narrow-minded and order-loving wizards on their side to assist them and betray their own kind. As a result, many of the more liberal and progressive German wizards and witches were actually burned at the stake in that country, because the traitors prevented their saving themselves by magic. Not that it helped them much', sighed Dumbledore, 'after the former were dealt with, the muggle witch hunters (who had learnt quite a bit of magic from them) turned on the traitors, which I think is quite typical of the Germans, but where was I?. 

Yes, Arabella also mentioned a friend of hers by the name of _Hartmut von Pasewalk_ who had been acting not quite himself lately – was always in favour of staying out of the war and suddenly he went around, telling everybody who would listen that Germany was German wizards' Fatherland after all and that wizards could not ignore the fact that it was being overrun by enemies. When I suggested that old Hartmut might be acting under the _Imperius_ curse, however, Arabella became furious. 'Are you suggesting, Albus', she said in an icy voice, 'that a _German_ wizard, even a dark, renegade one, will use an unforgivable curse, which has been outlawed for more than 50 years, on a fellow wizard? I do not know about your cold unpleasant island, but over here, we do obey laws because that is what they are made for!.' After this, she dried up and would say no more and we parted not the best of friends. I head learnt enough, however, and soon found out more. 

_Grindelwald_ has maybe one or two true followers, but he controls at least twenty by way of the _Imperius_ Curse. He was indeed the mastermind behind the things happening in France and Belgium and at the moment he is sitting at castle in the Black Forest, plotting new strategies to thwart the allied war effort, which might be even more dangerous than those he used last year. Still, things could be worse because we are not up against a powerful organization of German wizards that has decided to scrap the treaty with Britain, but only a score of people. Furthermore, wizards have grossly underestimated the muggles' technical capabilities. There is only so much damage, a few wizards and witches can do to a modern, heavily mechanized army as they found out to their lasting chagrin at the Bulge. There are just too many muggles opposing them now, nothing compared to battles in medieval days, when one well-placed wizard could decide the day by bewitching the opposing leader. My guess is that this has been the reason for their new tactics, which are aimed at sowing discord - by the clever use of Polyjuice potion, for instance-, rather than actual destruction! Just think of the incident involving Marshal Montgomery or the American soldiers in Belgium. But Grindelwald and his followers remain very, very dangerous and if they are clever, they might still cause a different and not very pleasant outcome of the war. Therefore, he must be stopped at all costs and the sooner the better. 

With my owls to your War Office, I have tried to enlist muggle support for putting him out of action, but you know the result. That's why I have brought you here, Peter! I have found out that this castle in the Black Forrest is not only guarded by _Grindelwald's_ followers, but also by a whole regiment of crack German troops and we wizards have no experience in dealing with them. You, on the other hand, have been conducting clandestine operations as an SAS officer first in Africa and later in Italy since 1942, if my information is correct.' 

'That is true', replied Peter in protest, 'but there is no chance in the world that the two of us will get past several hundred well-trained men who are armed to the teeth!' 'We will be more than two', said Dumbledore, 'but I suggest you first look at this map I have managed to obtain'. 

What he saw on the map did not lift Peter's spirits. 'Impossible', he muttered, 'look, there are three guard perimeters around the castle, starting here in the village of Schiltach, controlling every access road to the castle. We may manage to penetrate one or two, if we are lucky, that is, but three is out of the question, these German soldiers know their business too well!'. Smiling, Dumbledore touched the map with his wand. 'You keep forgetting that we are not ordinary people, but grown-up wizards', he said. 

Peter did not believe his eyes. All over the map, moving little red dots suddenly appeared. There were at least 700 of them! Next to each dot, there was a little sign in miniscule writing. Most said "Private or Soldier on guard duty" but some read "Colonel Klauss, in staff conference", "Hauptmann Schmidt, asleep after last night's party" or "Leutnant Meyer, on the loo". 'It takes some elaborate magic to modify a map like that', grinned Dumbledore, 'but I hope you agree with me that it will make your task considerably easier.' Peter nodded weakly. 'What are these blue dots without any signs?', he asked Dumbledore. 'They give the positions of _Grindelwald's_ wizards guarding the castle' answered Dumbledore, 'but they are a lot less reliable than the muggle dots, I'm afraid, since alert wizards can prevent themselves from being spotted on a map like that. Look there at the castle itself! Grindelwald and some of his followers should be inside, but there are no blue dots anywhere near it, just this fog-like haze on the map. Still, you need not concern yourself with the wizards, let me and my friends worry about them. What I need from you is a plan on how to enter the castle!' 

'We have to put as many soldiers out of action as possible, if we are to have any chance of success', Peter mused. 'and we cannot have bodies strewn all over the place either', he added. Looking at the map once more, he saw something that gave him an idea. 'I've got it', he exclaimed. 'See that regimental kitchen in the village of Gutach there, Albus, yes, right here where it says "Field cooks, preparing lunch"? If we can add something to the food that will put them to sleep for a day or two, we stand a chance. Look here, they have a lorry delivering meals from headquarters to the various posts! If we can intercept that and add something to the ingredients..., I think this might actually work!' he said excitedly. 'Very good!', replied Dumbledore, 'I knew you would come up with something, I had first thought about using invisibility cloaks, but we have only the one belonging to Harold Potter at our disposal, all others have been confiscated by the ministry and anyone inquiring about them would draw suspicion. Still, we will take that one, I'm sure it will come in useful. But now, it is time for you to meet my friends and then we go to work' said Dumbledore. He turned his head to the fireplace and Peter, following his gaze, was again dumbfounded as the flames first roared up and then suddenly turned green. 


	4. New friends and a plan

**Chapter 4: New friends and a plan**

Within ten seconds, two other wizards stepped out of the fireplace and, rather irritated, began dusting soot off their robes. They were men in their late thirties, one short and stocky with flaming red hair (though going bald), many freckles and brown eyes that radiated a great sense of humour, the other was taller and of much broader built with a white beard and a stern expression on his face. He also wore square glasses and was dressed in a Highlander's Costume beneath his robes. 

'Herbert, Robert, how are you?', exclaimed Dumbledore, a note of delight in his voice, 'you are right on time as I expected, but where is Harold?'. 'Good to see you, too, Albus', replied the red-haired man, 'but why did you make us come here by way of that confounded chimney? Stella is going to throw a fit, when she sees my robes', he sighed. 'In case, it is has escaped your attention, we both passed our Apparating Test some time ago - this is going to cost you! - Eh Tom, a round for all of us on Albus!', he added trying to sound grim, though his sparkling eyes gave away his true feelings. 

'Hello, Albus', said the other wizard with a heavy Scottish accent, 'kindly tell us what is so urgent that we had to come here, this very instant!'. 'Won't do, we must wait for Harold', said Dumbledore, 'but tell me, how is the family, Robert, especially little Minerva, I haven't seen her since she was born?'. 'Got no reason to complain, Albus, she's as tall as a beanstalk by now and the cleverest witch her age, I have ever seen. Can already do transfiguration spells, I'm having trouble with and her reading, writing and numbers are perfect, quite unusual for a five year old, I'm telling you. Every morning, she writes down a set of 'Rules and Chores for the Day' such as "Help Mama with the laundry", "Tidy up room", "Feed the animals" or "Brush teeth". And believe it or not, she is only happy at night, if she has completed every task and not broken a single rule during the day, quite extraordinary that little thing....

'Smiling, Dumbledore cast a questioning look at the red-haired wizard. 'Same here', replied Herbert Weasley, 'though I sometimes wished, little Arthur would live by a set of rules like that. Little rascal loves everything that has to do with muggles! As soon as Stella looks the other way, he climbs through the fence and takes off for the village. When we find him, he is usually at that new military petrol station, looking fascinated at the cars and lorries passing through the village. Either that or he has nicked a flashlight, Zippo lighter or some other muggle thing from one of the houses. It gets quite embarrassing, you know, the muggles of Ottery St. Catchpole have always been a bit suspicious of the inhabitants of the_ Burrow_ and if they catch a three-year old that can make their plows or reapers croak like roosters, it doesn't help matters much......' 

'I wonder whom he inherited that particular character trait from?', said Dumbledore teasingly, 'at least not from a close friend of mine, who ran away from school in 1908, or was it 1909, and spent all his meagre savings on a train ticket to Dover, just to see that Frenchman _Blériot_ and his plane after the first crossing of the channel by air', he added, chuckling. Herbert Weasley had blushed a bit, but further inquiries into the arrivals' families were interrupted by a loud bang in the far corner of the room. 

There, a very young and very tall wizard with unruly black hair and piercing green eyes had suddenly appeared and looked inquisitively at the assembled crowd. 'Harold', said Dumbledore in an exasperated voice, 'if I wrote "Do not apparate, but come by floo powder", I meant exactly that! I know, you do not like rules and delight in cutting corners, but the matter at hand can only be seen through, if we proceed with the utmost discipline!' ''What's the big deal?', replied the young wizard carelessly, 'I'm here now and that's the main thing, besides, our pub was the only place where I had access to a fireplace, and some Ministry wizards had just decided to have lunch there, when I entered. I figured, you would not want them here in our cosy little circle, would you?. So I had a hasty half-pint and made for the bushes to disapparate.' 

'Very well', said Dumbledore impatiently, 'did you bring what I asked you to?' 'Of course', replied Harold, 'it's right here'. He reached into his robes and produced a large leather-bound volume, which had written "_Most Potente Potions_" on its cover. 'But what in the world do you need that for?'. 'Let me have it', snapped Dumbledore, still angry, and leafed quickly through the pages. After some moments, he looked up triumphantly. 'I knew it, here it is, a potion that induces unconsciousness and combines it with forgetfulness, just what we need. Let me see, wolfbane, kingsfoil, toad-liver, basil, no - that's just for optional seasoning-, dragon-eye, ground horn of a young unicorn and belladonna. But wait! Here it says that the time the potion induces unconsciousness is controlled by the amount of belladonna added and nothing more. And there is not a clue on how to combine the ingredients, are we supposed to grind them, cut them up or what?' 

'What do you expect, Albus?,' said Robert, 'this is a book for the most advanced potions, and the author probably thought that anyone concocting these has sufficient knowledge of herbology and potion-making to know what he or she is doing.' Dumbledore wrung his hands in mock desperation, 'why didn't I pay more attention in those subjects, but you all know, they were my worst at school!' 'Same here', said Herbert and Robert gloomily nodded agreement, 'I have trouble cutting up parsley the right size for Stella's cooking, either with magic or without'. Dumbledore looked imploringly at Harold Potter. But Harold shrugged and said 'Don't even bother, Albus, I threw away my cauldron the very minute I left Hogwarts in 1938 and vowed to never touch one again, if I could help it.' 'We need a potion and herbology expert and we need him quick', hissed Dumbledore between clenched teeth, 'we haven't got time to lose.' 

'Sorry to interrupt you there, Albus', said Robert McGonagall, looking grimly at Parkinson, 'but before we do anything else I would like to know what that muggle is doing here?' Peter took a step back, obviously scared. 'That muggle is called Peter Parkinson and he isn't really a muggle, but that will have to wait. In any case, he is the key to our success in dealing with Grindelwald', replied Dumbledore. 'He came up with the idea of using the unconsciousness potion and he knows how to deal with muggle soldiers'. He then went on to bring his friends up to date on the Grindelwald affair. All three listened attentively. Though McGonagall still looked suspiciously at Peter, Herbert and Harold walked over to him and gave him a warm handshake. 'Welcome and thanks for your offer to help', beamed Herbert. 'Are you really a muggle soldier? Have you flown an aeroplane or been in one of these ships that can dive in the ocean? What exactly makes those aeroplanes fly and how does such a ship really work? I subscribe to some muggle technical magazines, but I'm never able to figure out the details...' 'Actually, no', said Peter apologetically, 'I was an officer in the SAS and drove jeeps and some tanks, didn't have anything to do with planes or submarines, sorry'. 'Jeeps', said Herbert delightedly, 'I have seen them in our village, but never been close to one, how exactly...?.' 

'We haven't got time for your questions on muggle technology, however interesting they may be', snapped Dumbledore, 'we need the potion expert! Who was the best student in potions and herbology in your years at Hogwarts, think sharply now!' 'Well, in our time that was _Octavian Snape_, so that's obviously out of the question', replied Herbert and Robert gloomily. ' I have it', exclaimed Harold, 'who were the best potion witches _ever_ to attend Hogwarts?' 'Celeste Sprout and Lorena Longbottom, formerly known as _Sprouty_ and _Dungs_', Dumbledore, Herbert and Robert replied in a small chuckling chorus, obviously sharing a joke Peter and Harold did not understand. 'And where is Lorena right now?' continued Harold excitedly. 'Running the apothecary shop right here in Diagon Alley', said Robert and Herbert not too enthusiastically, 'but if I were you.....'. Dumbledore interrupted them, 'Brilliant, Harold! I will be back in a few minutes!'. Robert and Herbert looked at each other gloomily and Peter heard Robert utter something that sounded suspiciously like 'Oh dear…'. 

Dumbledore disappeared from the room and reappeared several minutes later, accompanied by a young, angry-looking witch who wore a tall hat crowned by a stuffed vulture and moth-eaten robes with patches. She smelled strongly of garlic, medicine and earth and seemed furious, though her blue eyes looked fondly on Dumbledore, whenever she turned her head towards him. 

'Really, Albus, what are you thinking? Dragging me out of my shop full of customers in the middle of the day..., up to some mischief as usual no doubt. I have a business to run and no time for your nonsense!'. 'And look who is here', she went on in a shrill voice, 'Herbert Weasley and Robert McGonagall, the worst trouble-makers ever to attend Hogwarts!' She looked accusingly at them. 'You have turned my final year as headgirl into a nightmare and don't you think I have forgotten that!. You two were the worst shirt chasers I have ever seen! You have broken more girls' hearts at Hogwarts and elsewhere than any other men I have ever known. Remember the Yule Ball in 25', Robert, when you had asked me to be your partner and for a fortnight I was the happiest girl on earth? Then you called it off at the last moment, just because that French student _Simone_ had finally agreed to go with you. I bet, it was quite nice for _you_ attending the ball with the best-looking girl of the year. That this made me look like a complete idiot and that I cried for two days was really no concern of yours after all!'. 

At this, Robert and Herbert, looking rather subdued, began to retreat carefully towards the fireplace. To Peter, both appeared to have shrunken somewhat. Having finished with the two, the witch now shot a nasty glance at Harold. 'Potter, isn't it? You I know by reputation only', she snapped, 'but if what I hear is true, I think I don't like you much, either. Troublemaker and always up to mischief like those two!', she nodded towards the fireplace. 

'Dearest Lorena', said Dumbledore imploringly, 'please let bygones be bygones, at least for now. We really need your help desperately!' He whispered to her for several minutes and really succeeded in calming her down. 'All right then, Albus, but I'm only doing this for your sake, because I believe you that it is for the common good of wizardkind. And those three will have to help me!', she added with a nasty grin, pointing at Harold, Robert and Herbert. But first, I have to fetch some things from the shop.' 

She came back with a huge cauldron and a large bag full of disgusting-smelling ingredients. Drawing a huge knife from her belt, she began to cut up some herbs and put the others to work as well. But whereas Peter and Dumbledore had to grind the belladonna, a comparatively easy job, Herbert and Harold were made to disembowel two large vampire bats, which was disgusting work to say the least. But if their job was bad, Robert's was infinitely worse and involved mixing toadstool with dragon manure in a cauldron over a small fire in the opposite corner of the room. Soon, the others tried to breathe through their mouths only and Robert himself looked green and nauseous. 

Lorena thoroughly enjoyed bossing him around and shot nasty glances in his direction, usually followed by a casual remark on his known ineptness at potion brewing. 'Had to use a much different recipe', she explained to Dumbledore, 'no-one would have volunteered to drink what you had in mind. Now this one has the same effect, but it's also different, because once it is finished you can put a spell on it to make it look and taste like any beverage. So, what should it be? Ale, cider, whisky or what?', she asked Dumbledore, while stirring a sickening, bubbling and frothing brown liquid in the huge cauldron with a complacent expression on her face. 'I think, it would be best if it smelled and tasted like Pilsner beer', remarked Dumbledore casually. Lorena shot him a suspicious glance but said nothing. 'Suit yourself', she remarked and tapped the frothing liquid with her wand, which indeed turned a brownish yellow, smelt strongly of beer and suddenly looked very appetizing.

'How are we going to transport this?', asked Peter. 'We can't show up there, carrying a huge cauldron and even beer barrels would look suspicious'. 'I have thought of that', said Dumbledore and produced two large five-gallon jerrycans from somewhere. 'You think, these will do? I can transform them into beer barrels at any time, if that should become necessary', he added. 'Perfect', grinned Peter. Tom brought a funnel and Herbert, jumping excitedly, insisted on filling the potion into the jerrycans because these were obviously muggle-made. He made such a mess of things that almost half a gallon of the potion splashed on the floor instead of into the can. Furious, Dumbledore snatched the funnel from Herbert's hand and handed it to Peter. Having done this often, Parkinson had no trouble filling the containers in two minutes and now they were in for one final briefing before Dumbledore would give the 'Go' command. 

'Listen up, now', urged Dumbledore, 'our mission may determine the future of wizard- and mugglekind alike, therefore it must not fail! Do remember, however, that we stand quite alone, if the Ministry of Magic, the muggle War Office, the German Army or the German wizards should get wind of this, we are in very deep trouble. If we are caught, things will turn very disagreeable for each and every one of us, so if any of you has developed second thoughts, I want him to speak up, now. I will understand, particularly in Robert and Herbert's case, after all they've got a family to worry about.' Herbert Weasley had suddenly turned quite serious. 'There is one expression of you, I have always liked, Albus. "What distinguishes a good from a bad wizard or witch is his or her choices, in particular between what is right and what is easy". I think, I speak for all of us, if I tell you that we are and will be behind you all the way in this matter!'. Robert McGonagall, Harold Potter and Peter Parkinson nodded in agreement, though all looked rather worried. 

'Very well', continued Dumbledore, trying to hide a pleasant grin from his face, 'the main feature of this operation will be to put muggle tactics against wizards and wizard tactics against muggles wherever possible in order to ensure maximum surprise!'. He pinned the magic map on the wall and handed Peter his wand as a pointer. 'Your show now Lieutenant Parkinson', he smiled. 'Thank you', replied Peter, 'we will divide ourselves into two task forces. Task force 1 will be made up of myself, Herbert and Albus. This task force will presently…. what did you call it, Albus? – yes, _disapparate_ from here and re-apparate in the forest near the village of Hausach, which is well-outside the third guard perimeter as you can see here. We will then seize the lorry, bringing the food to the German soldiers and deliver our load of 'Pilsener' to the regimental mess. Having accomplished this, Task Force 1 will secure the fireplace at the village Pub called '_zum Bären_' here and connect it to the floo-network. We will then keep a low profile in the pub until the potion has put most of the enemy to sleep. Task force 2, made up of Robert and Harold, will follow a day later by floo-powder and meet with Task Force 1 in the pub. There, Herbert will join Task Force 2 and their objective will be to clear a way for Albus and myself to the castle. They will accomplish this by putting out of action any wizard or muggle soldier, still guarding the access road. Harold's invisibility cloak should be of considerable help for this task. After this, they will remain outside the castle and watch for any suspicious activity. Their main job, however, will be to cover our retreat! What follows now is crucial, gentlemen. It appears highly likely that Grindelwald has secured the castle against any possible wizard attack, but trusts that no muggle will ever manage to get close to it, because of the elite regiment and his wizards guarding the three perimeters. Therefore Albus and I will not apparate or use any magic for entering the castle, but do it the SAS way.' He pointed to two boarding hooks and two rolls of rope in a corner. 

Now Dumbledore continued 'Once on the North wall, we will try to locate Grindelwald's room and put him out of action as quickly as possible. The main objective is to take him _alive_ for later interrogation, because he is the only one who can establish the possible link between the British Ministry of Magic and himself. Now, is the plan understood or are there any more questions?'

He looked expectantly at the group. Robert and Harold appeared a bit puzzled, while Herbert was staring open-mouthed at Parkinson. 'I think, I understood what you meant', said Harold, his voice uncertain. 'The only thing, I didn't get was where we were supposed to meet the two wizards called "Task Force 1 and 2" or whatever else you called them. Did you get that, Herbert? Are they twins or something?'. 'To be honest with you Albus', replied Herbert Wesley, 'I was listening more to these fancy muggle words Peter used and kept wondering what they meant. Frankly, it would be swell, if you two could explain the whole thing once again....' 

Dumbledore was looking very exasperated at the three of them, when Tom suddenly burst into the room. 'The Aurors are coming, Albus! And Snape himself is with them!', he shouted. 'Somebody must have tipped them off that something suspicious is going on. They should be here any minute now!' 'OK, let's move it quickly then, people!' shouted Dumbledore. This calls for a last minute change in plans. Herbert and Peter will go at once! Peter, make sure you explain the whole thing once more to Herbert', he added, shooting Herbert Weasley a very nasty glance indeed. 'Myself, Harold and Robert will stay behind and deal with the Aurors. They will think twice before arresting members of the Assembly! Get going, you two! Peter felt Herbert Weasley hugging him tightly. Waving his cloak, Herbert shouted "Black Forrrreeeeest!". 


	5. In enemy country

**Chapter 5: In enemy country**

Suddenly, the walls appeared to have turned transparent and Peter was experiencing a very strange sensation. It was s if as he was staring into the empty void of outer space decorated with millions of shooting stars. In addition, there was a strange and very unpleasant icy lump forming in his stomach......

But before he could start to worry about any of this, he fell to the ground. As he struggled to disentangle himself from Herbert's cloak, he felt what was definitely sand under his hands. He got up immediately and saw that he and Herbert were indeed standing on a lonely beach close to a choppy sea. The air smelt very salty and they were surrounded by the angry shrieks of thousands of seagulls that had been disturbed by their sudden arrival. 'This is definitely not the Black Forrest, Herbert!', Peter exclaimed. 'Where have you landed us?'. But before he could say anything else, he heard menacing shouts 'Stoy! Stoy!, Ruki werch! Ruki werch!' A group of armed men, obviously soldiers, were running towards them from the top of a large sand dune. 'These are Russians', moaned Peter incredulously. 'You idiot have transported us to the shores of the Black Sea!' 'No reason to get offensive', replied Herbert, a hurt look on his face, 'I may have slurred the words just a little bit too much, but that's nothing that can't be mended'. By now, the Russian soldiers had come much too close for Peter's comfort. Some seemed to fall down on one knee in order to take better aim with their nasty-looking submachine guns. 'Do something quick', he yelled as Herbert embraced him again and shouted "Black Forrest" once more..... 

This time, they arrived at the brink of a large forest that seemed to consist mainly of firs. One glance around established that they were in the middle of a small valley in between two medium sized mountains. A paved street ran at its foot and in the distance they could see the lights of a village. Further away, on the third or fourth ridgeline, they saw what was unmistakably the sharp silhouette of a vast mediaeval castle. Ready to take cover at the smallest sign of danger, they carefully walked in the shadow of the trees until they had reached the first houses. Peter saw an orange and black sign that said "Hausach". From the village pub, singing voices and the tunes of what was definitely a German _Wuftata_ band carried to their hiding place. "_Du, Du liegst mir am Herzen, Du Du liegst mir im Sinn..._". The next piece was _Lili Marlen_ and Peter had trouble to keep himself from joining in, for like all soldiers of that time, he had a weak spot for that sentimental song. 'I have to apologize to you, Herbert', whispered Peter, 'this time you seem to have gotten us exactly where we are supposed to be. You even got the village right.' Herbert did not reply, but could not manage to completely hide the beaming expression of pride on his face. 

The roaring engine noises made by a large column of approaching lorries swiftly brought Peter back to reality. After all, they were in the heart of enemy country and he did not want to think what would happen if they were caught, regardless of having a wizard partner or not. At least ten trucks with mounted infantry passed the ditch, they had jumped into, and Peter had a very hard time making Herbert keep his nose down instead of staring at the lorries in fascinated wonder. Once the they had passed, both men retreated further into the woods and Peter took out Dumbledore's map. 

It was swarming with red dots and moving on would be out of the question. Behind the village began the first guard perimeter and on the map he could see at least a dozen patrols covering every road and trail, they might have used. A closer look, however, revealed the good news. Herbert and Peter, now both bowing over the magical map, could see that the German food lorry was approaching the village. It was about three miles away and would reach them within the next ten minutes or so. This was a chance that would not return! 'Can we stop them without anybody noticing?', Peter asked Herbert who nodded vigorously. 'Yes Peter, I already thought of something', he whispered, padding his wand confidently. 'We' d better walk back to meet them, then', said Peter. 'This is way too close to the village! Do you have the jerrycans with the potion?' He was awarded with a bewildered look from Herbert Weasley. 'No, of course not, I thought you had them!' Peter could not believe his ears! In their hasty departure, they had forgotten the most essential thing for the success of their mission!

His attention was distracted, however, by a swishing sound in the woods nearby. 'Down!', hissed Herbert, 'that's a wizard apparating!'. Both dove for cover in the ditch. Herbert had his wand out and was scrutinizing the little clearing ahead of them. Was the wizard a friend or an enemy? Peter sent a silent prayer to whoever would listen that Herbert Weasley would know what to do if the latter was true. Suddenly, they heard a strange sound. Somebody was whistling a song, Peter didn't know. It was a very rousing and wild melody. He shot Herbert a bewildered look, but Herbert suddenly looked immensely relieved. 'That is the Hogwarts school song!', he whispered, 'so it must be a friend.' He whistled the same tune in reply and after several seconds, Albus Dumbledore appeared in the clearing, carrying the jerrycans and looking sternly at them. 

'Thank god, I found you', he whispered. 'Have you had any trouble so far?' 'The Aurors took Robert and Harold in for questioning, but I managed to escape just in time!'. Peter shook his head and was awarded by grateful grin from Herbert for not mentioning the incident on the Black Sea. 'You arrived in the nick of time, Albus', said Peter, 'the food lorry is approaching and we'll never have a chance like that again'. They could hear approaching engine noises and knew they had to act quickly. 'How do we put the drivers out of action?', Peter asked. Herbert cast Dumbledore a knowing look and said. 'I thought, we would first use the _Urethra_ hex to get them out of the car and then, we stun them!' he added excitedly 'Excellent, Herbert, that is truly a brilliant idea! Much better than what I had in mind', said Dumbledore, a note of admiration in his voice. Peter looked bewildered 'The what…?', he whispered incredulously. 

'Herbert and Robert invented that hex, while still at school', explained Dumbledore. As its name indicates, anyone hit with it feels a sudden and desperate urge to relieve his bladder. It is impossible to fight and therefore just what we need. It has proven useful on many occasions', he added chuckling, but was interrupted by the beams of two headlights now rounding the curve. They waited until the lorry had drawn level with them. Then, Herbert pointing his wand at it, muttered '_Urethra_!'

The effect was immediate. The lorry screeched to a halt, its doors flew open, and they could see two German soldiers, running for their ditch, while desperately attempting to unbutton their flies! Now they had seen the three people hiding there, but before they could do anything, Herbert and Dumbledore pointed their wands at them and roared '_Stupefy_!'. Without a sound, both soldiers collapsed and lay still. Hastily, they dragged them out of sight and into the woods. Ropes now shot from both wands and bound them tightly. Peter had gotten some cloth and gagged them. 'That was the easy part', he whispered. 'Now we have to put on their uniforms and deliver our cargo!' 'I am not putting on that uniform, at least not the pants', said Herbert in protest, indicating two dark spots on the soldiers' pants showing the results of the _Urethra_ hex. 

'Don't worry about that', said Dumbledore. Flicking his wand at them, Peter suddenly found himself wearing a German staff sergeant's uniform while Herbert had turned into a private first class. 'I will hide in the back of the lorry', continued Dumbledore. 'I can't magic away my hair and beard and those are in violation of German Army regulations!' Puffing, all three of them hoisted the jerrycans with the potion on the lorry where Dumbledore transformed them into beer barrels and then hid himself behind a pile of dark bread loaves. Peter and Herbert now had a hissed argument about who was going to drive the lorry. Herbert was eagerly insisting that it would look more convincing if a private was driving. Dumbledore had to intervene and told Herbert off. 'First, you have never driven a lorry and now is not the time to learn, second you do not speak a word of German, Herbert! So get in the passenger seat and keep your mouth shut!' A sullen expression on his face, Herbert obeyed. Peter cranked the engine into life and drove off.

After several minutes, they approached the first road block and had to slow down. A sentry stepped out of the little guard house and shone his flashlight at their lorry. Recognizing them, however, he waved them on. Peter breathed a sight of relief. They had cleared the first perimeter, but there were two more to go. The second one was no problem either, but on the third, another sentry and an officer remained obstinately in the street until the lorry had completely stopped. The sentry carefully approached them, submachine gun at the ready. '_Papiere und Marschbefehl_!', he ordered curtly. His heart beating in his chest like a sledgehammer, Peter reached into his field jacket. Had Dumbledore thought about papers and driving orders? To his relief, he found both and presented them to the sentry with a short '_Bitte sehr_.', trying to sound as self-confident as possible. The officer had now walked over to the sentry and both men were studying the papers carefully. '_Feldwebel Maier und Obergefreiter Wagner mit der Verpflegung_? (Staff sergeant Maier and private Wagner with the food)' the officer asked. ‚_Jawohl_', answered Peter while Hebert simply nodded, both hoping that this would satisfy the man. The sentry now walked around the lorry and shone his flashlight into the cargo compartment in the rear! Peter desperately wished, Dumbledore had brought an invisibility cloak. '_In Ordnung, Herr Hauptmann, ich sehe Brote und Bierfässer_…..(It's all right Captain, sir. I see bread and beer barrels)'.

But the officer was not satisfied so easily. '_Bierfässer_ ?', he asked sharply '_auf Wache ist trinken verboten!_ (No drinking on guard duty). Peter tried to make his voice sound as matter-of-factly as possible, but he could feel now the sweat slowly trickling down his armpits. '_Das ist natürlich nur für diejenigen, die nicht im Dienst sind_! (Only for those off duty, of course)'. But the officer had already made up his mind. '_Passieren_!', he shouted and the sentry raised the barrier. '_Sie sind mir dafür verantwortlich, Feldwebel, daß noch etwas da ist, wenn wir kommen_! (I hold you personally responsible, staff sergeant, that some beer is left, once we get off duty!)', he shouted after the truck. His heartbeat slowly returning to normal, Peter drove on. 

The regimental mess in the next village presented no problem whatsoever. Dumbledore had jumped off the lorry before they reached it and hid in the woods. They were already expected by a bunch of rowdy soldiers who broke into delighted hoots, once they saw the barrels. Soon, Steins were brought out and the German soldiers drank greedily. There was a nasty moment, when a fat Bavarian cook insisted that Peter and Herbert drink his health, but Peter gave him such a stern lecture on drinking on duty that he soon gave up, murmuring something about '_damn Prussian martinets'_. The soldiers quickly unloaded the truck and they drove off again. 

Peter steered the lorry back into the woods and rejoined Dumbledore. He was already bowing over the map, a look of deep satisfaction on his face. 'Praise to Lorena, the best potion brewing witch in the world!', he said excitedly. And it was true. Peter could see several red dots on the map moving to the outposts and after several minutes, more and more dots stood still and the signs next to them read "_Soldier, fast asleep_'. It would be several hours, however, before all the soldiers were put out of action. To cut their waiting time short, Dumbledore and Herbert entertained Peter with some stories on how they had used the Urethra hex on several occasions to cheat at exams during their school days and soon they were in a very merry mood. 

'_If we were enemy wizards, the three of you would be stunned or dead!_', said a cold voice form the dark. Jumping to their feet, the three of them looked around wildly, while Dumbledore and Herbert reached for their wands. Harold Potter and Robert McGonagall, wands out and carrying the boarding hooks and the ropes, approached them from the forest. When they had reached them, they told Dumbledore immediately that the Aurors had indeed brought them straight to Octavian Snape's office, who, becoming more and more enraged as time went on, had threatened them with Azkaban and the Dementors for several hours, but they had stubbornly kept their silence. Unable to prove anything, he finally had to release them because of their parliamentary immunity. They had managed to shake off the Aurors, he had sent straight after them and come to Germany on their own initiative. Soon, they had run into German soldiers sound asleep and tried to find the remainder of the group with all possible speed.

'Well', said Dumbledore. 'Now it is time to split up!' Indicating Herbert, Harold and Robert, he continued. 'You three will go ahead along this path and clear our way off any remaining soldiers or wizards! After you have reached the castle, hide somewhere! Peter and I will follow you in a hour and enter the castle. Good luck to you, and remember what is at stake!'. Nodding grimly, the three drew their wands and looked once more at Dumbledore's map. 'Good luck to both of you, too', said Harold Potter. To Peter's utmost surprise, he then put on a shining garment and – vanished! Yes, he had heard the word invisibility cloak but until this second, he thought the others had been pulling his leg. The other two disappeared down the narrow path, that wound its way up to the castle in the distance. 

Peter and Dumbledore remained behind and waited. Several times, Dumbledore sighed deeply. 'I know what you are going through, Albus', Peter said. 'It is horrible having to send people close to you into battle or another uncertain fate. Young as I am, I had to do it countless times, and that's why I hate war so much!', he added, bitterness in his voice. They continued waiting. An owl was hooting in the distance and it was now pitch-dark. Suddenly a shrill cry rend the air, followed by an absolute silence. Both had jumped to their feet, trying to penetrate the darkness with their eyes. 'I could light my wand', whispered Dumbledore, 'but I don't want to draw any attention! They must have met at least one dark wizard' he continued thoughtfully, 'but to what result, I can't tell! How long have they been gone, Peter?', he inquired, a note of impatience in his voice. '56 minutes', replied Peter looking at his fluorescent watch. 'Let's follow them now!', he added urgently. Dumbledore nodded.

They picked up their equipment and followed the path. 'Remember what you said, Albus?', asked Peter, 'muggle tactics against wizards and vice versa', he went on. 'So, if we're up against wizards now, don't light your wand! I have brought something better.' He took a big flashlight from his rucksack and illuminated the path in front of them. It was deserted. It remained that way for at least half a mile, but it grew steeper and steeper and soon Dumbledore was puffing with exhaustion. 'That's what you get, when you can do everything by magic', Peter thought, proud of his own physical fitness. Finally, the castle towered ahead of them. They had almost reached their goal! 

Rounding a curve in the zigzagging path, Peter saw a huge hazelnut bush with two feet poking from under it in the narrow beam of his flashlight. His heart leapt. 'It couldn't be one of their friends, especially not Herbert Weasley. Please let it be one of the others', he prayed silently. Dumbledore had his wand out and was moving forward cautiously, indicating for Peter with his other hand to stay behind. Now he bent over the figure hidden beneath the bush! After several seconds, he motioned for Peter to join him, a look of immense relief on his face. The motionless figure on the ground was long and thin, wearing emerald green wizard robes, a thin moustache and a monocle in one eye. He reminded Peter of a Prussian lieutenant's caricature, he had once seen in an old magazine. 'Stunned!', said Dumbledore, looking up at Peter. 'I bet that's Hartmut von Pasewalk, let's hope, they had the same luck with the others!' Together, they pushed the body deeper into the bush and continued. 

Twice more, they found the bodies of wizards taken out by their friends and once the body of a beefy German soldier who obviously didn't like beer. Finally, they had arrived at the castle walls towering above them. 'Lucky, there is no moat', puffed Dumbledore, ' I don't think, I'd be up to a swim right now.' Peter looked at the map. This was the North wall, they were exactly where they were supposed to be. He looked around and saw a figure hiding behind a huge fir. It was Herbert Weasley who gave them the thumbs-up to tell them that the coast was clear. Having done this several hundred times, Peter expertly tied the ropes to the two boarding hooks. He grabbed the first and took careful aim, throwing it straight over the battlement 30 feet above them. With a slight clonk, it fell to the ground behind the battlement and Peter pulled it tight to test whether it would support his weight. He repeated the exercise with the other hook and now they were ready!

Inch by inch, Peter and Dumbledore pulled themselves upward, looking for footholds on the protruding sandstones. Peter could hear Dumbledore breathing hard. He was obviously not used to that kind of exercise. Peter was first to reach the battlement and pulled himself over it, standing on a stone path that covered the entire length of the wall. He grabbed the rope attached to Dumbledore's boarding hook and began pulling him up. After 20 seconds the wizard stood next to him on the path, breathing hard. On the opposite end of the wall, they could see a narrow flight of stairs that led up to a door at the foot of the castle's largest tower. Looking at that door, Peter was suddenly seized by an ominous feeling. He looked at Dumbledore who nodded. This had to be where Grindelwald was hiding! Careful not to make a sound they crept along the path and ascended the narrow stairs until they reached a small platform in front of the door. The decisive hour had come at last! 


	6. Grindelwald

**Chapter 6: Grindelwald **

'Are you ready, Peter?' Dumbledore asked breathlessly, drawing his wand. Parkinson could only manage a weak nod. 'On the count of three, then'. Dumbledore raised his tough-leathered right boot, ready to kick in the oak door, which looked very solid and impregnable to Peter. 'One…, two, …. three!' Dumbledore's vicious kick, obviously intensified beyond possible human strength by some magic, instantly reduced the door to splinters and both men jumped into the room. At a glance, Parkinson took in the scene. A medium-sized, pale man wearing the uniform of a German staff officer sat behind a huge desk covered with parchments, spell-books and potion ingredients, while a roaring blue-flamed fire was burning in the huge chimney on the opposite wall… That was all he could make out because with serpent-like speed the pale man had jumped to his feet and drawn a wand, pointing it straight at Dumbledore. "_Stupefy_", both men roared within a split second of each other. Jets of red light issued from each wand and collided in midair.

It was as if a small grenade had gone off in the room. There was a deafening bang, all windows broke instantly with glass splinters flying everywhere, tapestries and oil-paintings fell off the wall, while the solid-oak desk the man had been sitting on crashed into the stone wall where it broke into a million wooden splinters. His soldier's instincts probably saved Peter's life. Without knowing what he was doing, he dove for cover behind a large leather couch. He knew, he should keep his head down, but an all-overpowering will to see what was happening and possibly help Dumbledore overcame him. 

Both wizards stood facing each other over the ruined room. Instinctively, Peter could tell that each of them looked for some weakness in the other's defence. The German wizard who was obviously Grindelwald moved first. His sharp cry of "_Crucio_" was once again countered by Dumbledore's "_Stupefy_" with the same result as before. More glass was flying and Peter could hear shards of glass and wooden splinters strike his couch with sickening thuds. But he could not bring himself to take his head down, while his mind was racing, desperately searching for a way to help Dumbledore. 

Still both man were on their feet, glaring at each other. Neither of them spoke a single word, but the feeling of enmity and hatred was so dense that Peter felt he could have touched it, if he had just made the effort. Again, Grindelwald was the first to point his wand at Dumbledore. Peter could distinctly hear him exclaim the word "_Avada_…". He had the sudden feeling that time had stopped or was at least moving in slow motion. A terrified look of hopeless desperation had suddenly crossed Dumbledore's face. It was as if he knew what was coming, but could not bring himself to believe it! In a weak defensive gesture, he raised his own wand an shouted "_Defensio_", but somehow Peter could tell, he counted the duel lost. Nevertheless, a silver semi-transparent blue fog issued very quickly from the tip of his wand and formed a blue aura around him. As if from a great distance, Peter heard the second part of Grindelwald's curse '…._Kedavra_!!!'

Mouth open in terror, Peter now saw for real what he had seen only this morning in Boudicca's portrait! A jet of sickish green light issued from Grindelwald's wand and sped towards Dumbledore with a rushing sound that reminded Peter of an approaching train in the London underground. Then it struck, but Dumbledore did not instantly collapse dead as the Roman Centurion had done. Instead, the ball of green light impacted on the defensive aura surrounding his body with a deafening, grating sound and burst into several smaller fragments. Some penetrated the aura and hit Dumbledore in the chest causing him to drop to his knees and clutch his throat as if an invisible someone was strangling him. The greater part, however, bounced off the aura and caught Grindelwald in the face. With an ear-piercing shriek, suddenly cut short as if by a knife, Grindelwald dropped his wand, which sailed in a wide ark towards where Peter was hiding. For an instant, the dark wizard seemed to attempt to clutch his face - then he went rigid and fell to the ground where he lay motionless. Without a further look, Peter could tell that Grindelwald was dead! 

He struggled to his feet and looked at Dumbledore. He, too, had collapsed into an untidy heap of body and wizard robes, but he still moved feebly, so he was at least alive. Parkinson had never felt so relieved in his life. He was on the point of rushing to Dumbledore's side, when the roaring blue flames in the chimney suddenly turned green!

Peter could not believe his eyes. Out of the fire stepped a …. boy! He was in his late teens or early twenties, very tall with very white sickly skin, hollow cheeks and greasy black hair. He wore robes of black and his wand was out. Instinctively, Peter could tell that the boy's appearance did not constitute an improvement in their situation and had the presence of mind to hide himself again behind the couch before the newcomer could spot him. He was soon proven right. It was as if a sudden ominous chill had descended on the room with the stranger's appearance. "_Expelliarmus_", the boy shouted almost carelessly, and Dumbledore's wand flew into his outstretched hand. Wand still at the ready, the boy now carefully approached the heap on the floor that was Dumbledore. For several seconds he stood over him, his face contorted into a malicious, triumphant expression. Then, without warning, he kicked Dumbledore viciously in the chest and was awarded by a stifled moan! 

'My, my, look whom we have here?', he said in a mocking voice, 'my old and honoured transfiguration professor, Albus Dumbledore!' He kicked Dumbledore again, followed by a new groan of agony. 'As usual, sticking your long, crooked nose in other people's business, aren't you?', he continued. 'But today, you have overplayed your hand, my dear professor. This will be the last time, you are interfering with my plans, that I can promise you', he added ominously. He paused as if in deep thought for several seconds. 'It would probably be best to finish you off here and now', he said thoughtfully as if speaking to himself, 'yet, you may not be in a position to even know who finally defeated you, the supposedly greatest wizard of the century', he went on in that same mocking voice. 'You understand, I cannot have that. I want you to know that it was LORD VOLDEMORT who finally thwarted your ambitious and foolish plans for wizard democracy and wizard-muggle relations!'. 'Besides, there are some things I want to learn from you before you die, like how you managed to survive my trusted servant's supposedly unblockable killing curse, for instance. Yes, I think, it would be best, if I nursed you back to some health before you die, Dumbledore'. 

He tapped Dumbledore's figure carelessly with his wand and said "_Enervate_". The effect was immediate and Dumbledore began to stir more vividly. The boy murmured several other words and then pulled Dumbledore into an upright position leaning him roughly against the stone wall. 'Now we are in a better position to continue our little and in your case last conversation' he said almost gleefully. From behind his couch, Peter saw that Dumbledore looked still very weak and very pale as if he had been through a terrible ordeal. His look reminded Peter of some sailors he had once seen after they had been rescued from a sunken submarine after three days at the bottom of the sea. Still, Dumbledore's eyes had slid back into focus and he was eyeing the boy with a look of utter disbelief on his face. 'Riddle, what in the name of god are you doing here?' he asked weakly. 

'Don't use that filthy mudblood name', the boy hissed. 'I have renounced that name, for I am now LORD VOLDEMORT, most powerful of all wizards alive!' He raised himself up and suddenly seemed to have grown taller and more menacing. And Peter could have sworn that his black eyes had changed their colour to an inhuman evil red. 'You always mistrusted me at school, didn't you professor? Yet, you apparently do not know that new name, my friends at Hogwarts have known me by for quite some time now'. 'Still, I owe you thanks for many things. You have been a very good teacher indeed, in fact one of the best, I ever had. If only you had made better use of the powers given to you, instead of wasting them on mudbloods and muggle scum ', he added with an evil grin. 

'Remember what you told us at our graduation ceremony from Hogwarts last year? That we now walked from these halls of learning, but that it was your sincere hope that we never ceased learning for the lasting good of all wizardkind?' 'Well, you were quite right, we learn something new every day. Now, for instance, I have learned that there are obviously ways to block the _Aveda Kedavra_ curse, proven by the lamentable fact that you are still alive. I consider myself a bit of an expert on this curse, you know. I have used it no less than four times in the last years and every time, my victim was quite dead before it even hit the ground'. There was a note of deep satisfaction in his voice as Dumbledore watched him with an expression halfway between disbelief and repulsion. 

'You wonder how I managed to even know about this curse, professor? After all, icky Hogwarts students should only know rudimentary defence against the dark arts stuff, should they not, Dumbledore? As you never tired of telling us - it's all in books! I believe, there is not a single volume in the restricted section of the library that I haven't learned by heart. With that, I had help of course, but I choose not to reveal it…, though in your case, it would not make any difference.', he added as if in an afterthought. 'But back to business, how did you manage to stay alive? Talk and live a little longer or remain silent and die now!' he said in a voice suddenly harsh as stone, while pointing his wand at Dumbledore. 

'I cannot explain it', replied Dumbledore hesitantly, 'normally, there is no escape from the killing curse and I considered it impossible that even a renegade dark wizard like Grindelwald would use it on a fellow human being', he added. 'When he did, I reacted instinctively by using a shield charm, but did not expect to survive unless….' 'Unless what?' said the boy eagerly, 'go on Dumbledore, this is important to me, and it prolongs your life', he added. 'Unless someone sacrifices his or her own life to protect the victim or the killing curse is performed by a wizard who is acting under the _Imperius Curse' , _Dumbledore continued reluctantly. 'The _Imperius Curse_ generally diminishes a wizard's powers and the effect is the stronger, the more powerful the one acting under it was to begin with.' 

'Thank you for that very instructive explanation! As usual, I marvel at your knowledge, professor', replied the boy, bowing mockingly to Dumbledore, 'how unfortunate you never chose to reveal such interesting facts to your students in class', he went on. 'Alas, school often fails to teach us the things that really matter in life! Grindelwald was indeed my creature, and yes, he was acting under the _Imperius Curse_. He was a very powerful wizard indeed and not easily manipulated, truth be told, he actually put up quite a struggle. When I sensed your presence in the castle, I disapparated at once counting on him to finish you off, even gave him proper warning that you were coming. This way, there would not have been the slightest chance that anyone ever found out that he was not the true mastermind behind the things going on in Europe at the moment. But nevertheless, I am in luck, since his curse was still strong enough to reduce you to a state where you were unable to offer me any resistance. Not that you could hope to withstand me even with all your powers intact', he hissed maliciously, 'for none can resist LORD VOLDEMORT, but this way I have the opportunity to settle some old scores between us by killing you myself. 

What are these scores?, you wonder. Don't bother to hide it, Dumbledore, your eyes are giving you away and LORD VOLDEMORT knows, he always does. Well, first, you came within a hair's breadth of discovering that it was me and not that oaf Hagrid who opened the Chamber of Secrets several years ago. Now, you have thwarted my plans for the wizard domination of Europe by disabling my trusted German friends and killing my most able, if not entirely willing, servant! For this, you will die, Dumbledore! The boy's face was contorted into a mask of such malice, rage and hatred, while he said this that Peter feared the worst for Dumbledore. 

Listening to the boy's story, Dumbledore's eyes had widened and Peter wondered what it must feel like to find that one of your former students suddenly reveals himself a killer and the mind behind everything you fought against. 'Fear not, professor', the boy continued, 'I will not kill you before I have told you the entire story. You know, this horrified expression of disbelief on your face gives me too much satisfaction, and I am asking myself what it will turn into, once you have heard it all. But where should I begin?' 

'You know, of course, that I was raised in a muggle orphanage because my mother died at my birth. Tom Riddle, my gentleman muggle father had left her, when he found out that she was a witch. Went back to his parents, since he loathed magic!', the boy spat. 'When I found this out, I vowed revenge. My father and grandparents would pay for everything, they had done to me -the vile food at the orphanage, the frequent beatings and the loneliness of my childhood. Though, I tried to stay at Hogwarts during most vacations, I went back one Christmas during my second year and broke into the office where the orphans' files were kept. There, I discovered that my mother's name had been Patricia Jameson but nothing more. Imagine my horror, however, when I saw that a certain Tom Riddle of Little Hangleton was listed as my father and it stated quite clearly that he was alive and well. But someone had scrawled under his name. "_Father's identity is not to be revealed to the boy under any circumstances!!! Father is a rich and influential gentleman and threatens legal action!!! Mother was last member of her family. If people by the name of Jameson should inquire about the boy, notify Police immediately (see letter)"._ The letter was not there any more, but I knew enough to decide that my father would die for what he had done. 

During one of the next Hogsmeade weekends, I managed to smuggle myself and a broomstick out of school and flew to Little Hangleton. I had already taught myself to disapparate at that time, of course, but considered the risk of getting caught and the many questions that would undoubtedly follow not worth the risk. With the broomstick, I could always pretend the whole affair had been nothing but a schoolboy prank to visit the village before my third year. 

I arrived there at noon and slipped into the dining room, just as the Riddles were entering the room to have their lunch. Hidden behind a curtain, I imagined myself stepping forth every second now, first telling them who I was and then killing each and every one of them. I had already drawn my wand, when I suddenly started paying attention to what the old Riddle was saying. "_Say Tom, did that abnormal girlfriend of yours ever tell you she had a sister_?" I froze and dared not breathe. "_Might have mentioned it once or twice, but I can't really remember_", answered a sullen-faced, unpleasant looking man in his early 40s whom I recognized as my father. "_Just went over some old club bills this morning_", continued the old Riddle, "_when I suddenly remembered an encounter I had with one of these bloody aristocrats at the club 'bout 15 years ago. Still remember their faces, when they had to let people like me in, didn't like that at all did they now?'_ he said chuckling._ 'But anyway, he mentioned a certain Jenny Jameson who was midwife at his parish and that she had bewitched his boy_." _I dug a little deeper and found out that he was on the verge of sending his only  son to that crackpot magical school your abnormal girl had attended, too, but I put him in the right about that idea, let me tell you…._" 

Behind his couch, Peter had to press his fists before his mouth to suppress a cry. With clenched teeth, he listened as the wizard boy continued his story. 

'You can imagine what a surprise it was for me to find out that I had an aunt, moreover an aunt who was a witch. I admit that my first feelings concerning her might have been not entirely unfriendly. I loathed muggles in general and that sorry muggle who called himself my father in particular, but with relatives on my mother's side, it was an altogether different matter. I had already found out that through her side I was descended from Salazar Slytherin himself, so the same would be true for any sister of hers. On the spot, I decided that the Riddles had bought themselves some time with that piece of information. Since I knew now where they lived, I could deal with them any time I chose to. I quietly waited until they had finished, slipped out of the house and flew back to Hogwarts. 

On the way back, I thought incessantly about my aunt and with every mile, my hatred for her increased. I hated her for abandoning me to the muggles! Hated her for not coming for me and put me out of that miserable existence at the orphanage. I hated her for the lonely vacations at the school, when other children went home to their parents! By the time, I had reached the school, I had made up my mind that she would be the first to die, since the muggles did at least not know what they had done to me, but she, she was a witch and should have known better! 

Back at Hogwarts, I employed my trusted friends' help to track her down, without telling them the reason for it, of course. Since many of them came from old wizarding families and had influential parents, this proved not too hard. Within less than two months, Timothy Lestrange's father had found out that she was living as midwife in a small village somewhere in Essex.'

Peter listened to this in utter horror and had to fight a sudden urge to stand up and tell the boy that his aunt had indeed loved him very much and would gladly have taken him in and brought him up. But somehow he knew that this would not help and surely get him killed or worse, so he remained silent.  

'Now, I knew enough!', the boy continued, 'I waited for the next vacation, when the school was virtually deserted. All of the teachers except for foolish old Armando Dippet had gone away on holiday, so this was an ideal time to execute my plan. Told Dippet, I would like to go hiking around the forbidden forest for a couple of days and the old fool agreed, since he always had a weak spot for me. After heaps of good advice, I tramped off. This time, I had decided to risk apparition because there was nobody left at Hogwarts who might get suspicious and ask questions…..' 

Again, the evil red-eyed expression appeared in Tom Riddle's face. 'I knocked on her door at tea time and told her who I was. Crying and sobbing, she took me into her arms and fed me tea and cookies as if she hoped to make up for 13 years of neglect with that! I explained that I attended Hogwarts and she told me one story after another about my mother's family. Quite boring actually, and it went on for hours. Then she got up to fetch a photo album full of family pictures from upstairs. When she came down again, I had my wand out and was pointing it straight at her heart. Watching her uncomprehending expression, I then gave her a little lecture on family loyalty and what I thought of her, but I think she was too horrified to understand much of it and then….., well, then I killed her, of course. I had used the killing curse on countless animals to practice, when I was sure not to get caught and I must confess that using it on a human being did not make much difference to me. I finished my tea, while looking at her lifeless body with a sense of accomplishment and thought about the other people I would soon take my revenge on. Before I left, I put the photo album in my robes and considered setting the cottage on fire to make it look like a dragon or giant raid, but finally decided against it because the risk of something linking me to her was quite negligible. Stepping out into the night, I thought about the Riddles and that they would be next.' 

'I know, I should have left then and there, but an uncontrollable urge to leave some mark of my revenge overcame me. Hardly knowing what I was doing, I pointed my wand at the skies and exclaimed the first word that crossed my mind, which for some reason I don't know was something like "_Morsmordra_". It had an effect beyond my wildest dreams. A huge skull with a serpent tongue erupted from my wand, shot into the sky and hovered above the roof of my dead aunt's cottage. This was the sign, I had been looking for and I silently vowed that people up and down the land would soon come to dread it as their worst nightmare come true. It almost proved my undoing, however, because no sooner had I managed to reach the rim of the forest, when Aurors began apparating all around the place. One actually got off a stunner at me, but I had managed to disapparate before it hit me…..'

A look of such revulsion and loathing crossed Dumbeldore's face, when he heard this that the boy instinctively backed away from him and raised his wand again. At the same time, Peter, still behind his couch, had to exercise every ounce of restraint he possessed to prevent himself from hurling himself at the monstrous creature across the room who had killed his childhood friend. He wanted to strangle him with his bare hands! While pictures of Jenny telling him stories and teaching him magic flickered across his mind, he weighted his chances of reaching Grindelwald's wand, which still lay on the ground where it had come to rest after its owner's defeat - a bare couple of inches out of Peter's reach. 

Meanwhile, the boy had regained his self-assurance. 'You want to hear the rest of the story or do you want to die right away?', he asked Dumbledore indifferently. 'I don't care either way!'. Dumbledore let himself sink back against the wall and gave a weak sign with his head, indicating that he wanted the boy to continue. 

'I had decided to walk back to Hogwarts by way of Hogsmeade, so as not to arouse any suspicion. But nothing could have prepared me for what I encountered there. The whole village was in turmoil. People were running around, clutching special editions of the Daily Prophet with the ominous headline "WITCH FOUND DEAD - FIRST REPORTED USE OF KILLING CURSE SINCE 1867!!!!". Avoiding the Aurors posted on every corner, I sneaked my way back into the school, where, right in the entrance hall, I ran into old Dippet. He was in tears and on the brink of collapse over what had happened, assured me that he would not have thought it possible that he would live to see this and what not. At first, I thought the game was over and everybody knew what I had done, but then to my lasting delight, I realized that my use of that curse had had the same effect a solid boot has on an anthill – utter confusion, bewilderment and fear had gotten the entire wizarding community by the throat. I was quite surprised what little it took to accomplish this, but it was duly noted for later use', the boy added nastily.

'During my entire third year, rumours about the murder and the killer's possible identity did not stop. Aurors were rigorously questioning everyone who had ever spoken to Jenny Jameson and -in their final desperation at the futility of their efforts- even considered extending the investigation to the muggles. From my trusted Slytherin friends, I learned that the Ministress of Magic, Sybil Moody herself, had requested a daily progress report and several dozen handpicked Aurors were exclusively working the case day and night. They had theories about giants, they had theories about foreign wizards, they had theories about dragons, but nobody suspected a little third year honour student at Hogwarts', he said maliciously. 

'Still, I had to keep a very low profile and could not even dare think about finishing off the Riddles as I had planned. Though they were muggles, their very name linked them to me and three people dying of unnatural causes on the same day would surely alert the Aurors. But time was on my side! In 1940, Moody was ousted from office and most Aurors were withdrawn from the case, the new Ministry of Magic under Lucifer Malfoy needed them elsewhere. Only one continued the investigation, even against direct orders, but I did not know that at the time.'

'I thought it best to distract the wizarding community's attention even further and continued my search for the Chamber of Secrets. I knew it was really there, because I had often heard the voice of the thing that slept there in my dreams and one day in 1943, by a mere coincidence, I found it!' 

Dumbledore had suddenly become very alert. 'So it was you who opened the Chamber and set that dreadful thing on innocent students?', he asked quietly. 'Yes, indeed, professor', replied the boy, 'but I imagine you have suspected this all along, haven't you? My original plan was to create as much disturbance at Hogwarts as possible and also get the message across that Salazar Slytherin and his heir did not approve of muggle-born mudbloods attending his school. But again, I had miscalculated. After the first death, an ugly little mudblood first-year called Myrtle Parker, they talked about closing the school! That would have meant going back to the orphanage without having completed my wizarding education and I could not have that!'

'Luckily one of my classmates, a half giant fool called Rubeus Hagrid, had at around the same time found and raised a giant _Mongolian Killing Spider_ in one of the dungeons and that opportunity was just too good not to make proper use of it. I cornered Hagrid and turned him in! It worked perfectly, nobody believed him but everybody thought me a hero for having stopped the killing. I even received an award for special services to the school', he added in played mocking disbelief. 'I know, you had a suspicion, Dumbledore, but unfortunately no proof whatsoever, so they drummed Hagrid out of school, wand-breaking ceremony and all!', the boy said, his voice oozing with self-satisfaction. 'You know, it still gives me great pleasure to recall his silent sobs on that occasion "_'onestly, I meant no 'arm_!" and "_Thank _god _that me old dad did not live to see this, 'ould have broken 'is heart_". 'I would have preferred for him to be kicked out completely, but you, Dumbledore, persuaded Dippet to keep him on as game keeper instead. I am not sure, you did him a favour, though. What could be worse than seeing your classmates become fully trained wizards, while you had to shovel dragon manure into the pumpkin patch?', he said derisively. 'I, at least, would have rather died'.

'Though, it bothered me that I had managed to kill only one mudblood, reopening the Chamber was obviously out of the question. But, don't worry, Dumbledore, I came up with something else. You may rest assured that this was not the last time in this century that the Chamber of Secrets has been opened!' 

From the expression on Dumbledore's face, Peter could tell that this information was very important to him, but he somehow knew, too that it would be quite hopeless for Dumbledore to ask Riddle for further details. The boy continued.

'In 1944, I had completed my seventh and last year at Hogwarts – a fully trained wizard at last! Now it was time to deal with the Riddles, since I was finally rid of your poking nose, Dumbledore. I was also confident that nobody would pay too much attention, if three muggles got killed, since thousands were dying every day in the war. Still in my graduation gowns, I went to Little Hangleton and this time, I finished them off one by one. First my fat, disgusting grandfather, then my grandmother -though she was clutching my knees begging for mercy, quite pathetic that was- and finally my sorry father. What a pitiful sight! Instead of dying on his feet like a man, he was crawling on his belly like a worm, crying like a baby! After it was over, I stared at the bodies, taking in every detail with grim satisfaction. Nobody had seen me, except for that war-veteran muggle who kept their garden in order and I knew that he had a reputation as a strange, whimsical fellow, so nobody would believe him.'

'Thinking about my future plans, I shot my mark into the sky and left the manor, quickly making for the nearest woods to disapparate. Imagine my horror, however, when on the rim of the forest, I suddenly found myself facing a young Auror, wand at the ready, who would certainly stun me, the very second I moved. I knew, it was no use defending myself and I let him disarm me. 

"_Quite a career, Riddle_", the young Auror growled "_from headboy and honour student at Hogwarts to a certain life sentence at Azkaban, and all within one day!"_ I was too shocked to answer, I knew I had lost that one and my prospects looked indeed dismal. My career as a dark wizard was over before it had even begun. Desperately, I thought of a way out, but there was none! "_Don't even think about it laddy_!", continued the Auror with a grin, half-amused, half-threatening. "_I don't like to stun people and I like killing them even less, but I will do both, if you try to escape or fight me_. _Nice little plan, killing these muggles in the middle of a war, I must admit, but you obviously forgot that Alastor Moody was still on your tail!" "That's me", _he added, when he saw that I could not place the name. "_I have been after you, ever since you killed Jenny Jameson in Essex back in 1940. When that bastard Malfoy used the unresolved murder as an additional argument to oust my grandmother from office, it became sort of personal and a matter of family honour, you know. You were not as clever as you thought, Tom! After I had discovered that Jenny had a sister, tracking you down was child's play, really, but I had no proof. I had to catch you in the act. By putting one and one together, however, I knew that your father's side would be next, so I neglected some of my other duties to guard this place. Unfortunately, I could not prevent their deaths, since I did not believe it possible you would kill them the very day, you left school", _he continued, indicating the manor with his chin. "_But on the other hand, you have made things a lot easier for me this way. You know, you might actually have gotten off easy with that one murder only, considering your dismal childhood, protection of adolescents and all, but four dead people is way too much. Tomorrow night, by the latest, you will find yourself in the care of the Dementors of Azkaban! And good riddance to you, I say to that! But come on, let's move it!"_

'Suddenly, ropes sprang from his wand and bound me so tightly, I could not move a single limb. Before I knew, what was happening, he had clutched me in a firm embrace and we disapparated. 

After a second or so, we materialized again and I could see that he had brought me straight to the Ministry of Magic building in _Merlin Alley_. I had never been there, but I had seen pictures and I knew that was were the wizard court convened. Once there, Moody pushed me roughly through a door and we moved up to a desk. "_Caught Jenny Jameson's murderer red-handed_", he said to the Goblin sitting behind it. "_Summon someone to guard him and inform the court"_, he next ordered curtly. "_Very well_", replied the goblin, his cunning face showing no expression whatsoever.

At this moment, there was a commotion at the end of the corridor. A large man in black robes with greasy black hair that hung to his shoulders ran towards us. Seeing him, Moody raised his wand in a gesture of salute. "_Good afternoon, Mr. Snape_", he said. The man appeared not to have noticed him. "_I will take charge of this prisoner_", he bellowed "_and_ _you Moody, will face charges of insubordination and wilful disobedience of explicit orders_!", he added menacingly. "_You are to report to Lestrange immediately! He is already waiting for you and it won't be a pleasant meeting, I promise you!_" With a resigned expression, Moody let go off me and disappeared through a large door at the opposite end of the hall. 

Snape grabbed my shoulder and, with a flick of his wand, untied the ropes binding my legs but not the ones around my arms. "_Riddle, follow me_", he said in a harsh unpleasant voice. He took me up countless staircases and through endless corridors until we had reached a black office door. "_Office of the Minister of Magic – No Entry" _ was written on it in gold letters. Snape knocked on the door several times. "_Come in!_", came the curt reply from within. 

We entered and I found myself in a magnificent office, facing a tall, skinny man with grey hair, a grey beard, piercing green eyes and very white skin who throned behind an immense elevated desk. Without bothering to get up, he looked at us questioningly. "_Sir, following your request, I have brought you one Tom Riddle. Moody caught him this afternoon after he had killed all three surviving muggle relatives on his father's side_", Snape said. "_Very well, Octavian, thank you_", replied the man behind the desk. "_You may leave now_" he added with a dismissive wave of his hand. Snape bowed and left the office without a further word. 

For a long time, the man behind the desk simply stared at me through half-closed eyes. It was almost as if he was considering a matter of the utmost urgency in his mind, weighing its pros and cons before he spoke. After what seemed an eternity, he opened his mouth. "_So you are Tom Marvolo Riddle - honour student, headboy, dark sorcerer of great promise and – a four times murderer?_", he said in a drawling unpleasant and very arrogant voice, "_I have been waiting for you, you know. That fool_ _Moody thought I would not find out that he has been disobeying orders for the last years by searching for you!" _he spat, "_when finding you and bringing you here was  the only purpose of the whole affair, of course! I will offer you a choice, Riddle! Refuse and the wizard court will convene this afternoon. Considering your crimes and with Alastor Moody as chief witness, you will undoubtedly receive a life sentence in Azkaban. Accept and….."_

'I looked at him, dumbfounded, not able to believe what I had just heard. The Minister of Magic himself was offering me what was obviously a highly-illegal arrangement to escape certain prosecution! I nodded eagerly for him to continue. Well, Dumbledore, you can guess the rest, I presume. He told me about the allied progress in the war and what their victory would mean for him and his followers. We soon found out that we saw eye to eye on muggles and mudbloods and the fact that the wizarding community was best served by a single ruler instead of that stupid democracy business. So Malfoy recruited me to execute his long-prepared plan to lend aid to the German cause by way of dark magic. I accepted the offer gladly, of course, since it coincided perfectly with my own plans. The old fool undoubtedly considers me a useful tool to further his own designs, but we shall see about that in due course……, oh yes , we shall see about that because LORD VOLDEMORT is nobody's tool. The day will come, when I have Lucifer Malfoy crawling at my knees, begging to be allowed to join my ranks, but at present we are on the same side……'

Dumbledore had been listening eagerly to the last part of the boy's story, an almost triumphant look on his sunken face. But Peter behind his couch could tell that they boy was obviously tired of continuing and that worried him deeply. 

'What are you dreaming about, professor?', the boy inquired, staring insolently at Dumbledore. 'Going back to the British wizarding community and sharing this piece of information with them? They would undoubtedly get rid of Malfoy and his followers and re-institute that mudblood and muggle adoring system you like so much, would they not? Alas, as I have told you before, you will not leave this room alive! Apart from knowing now way too much, there are still the scores I have to settle with you. So, I think the time has come for you to die, my dear professor!'


	7. The Showdown

**Chapter 7: The showdown**

The boy had raised his wand, pointing it straight at Dumbledore's heart, a look of triumphant expectation on his face. Peter knew that he had to act know or it would be too late. He dove for Grindelwald's wand, grabbed it, pointed it at Riddle and shouted the only spell he knew "_Wingardium Leviosa_". To his own surprise, it seemed to work. Riddle's wand was wrenched from his hands and hovered at the ceiling. With a cry of outrage, the boy reached into his belt and pulled out Dumbledore's wand.

'For this you will die first, muggle!', he hissed, his face a mask of hatred 'but I will not make it nice and painless this time, oh no! I will rip every shred of sanity from your bones, leaving you a witless shell, for no muggle offers resistance to LORD VOLEDEMORT!' "_Crucio_!" The pain hit Peter like I giant fist. It was as if high voltage electric currents had been sent simultaneously through all his nervous ends. From a great distance, he heard somebody shriek in an agony, he would have considered impossible until it occurred to him that the shrieks were his own. "_Crucio_!", Riddle shouted once more, and the pain intensified even further. Peter writhed on the floor like someone being burned alive at the stake. His mind was crying out for unconsciousness and forgetfulness, but that was the power of the _Cruciatus Curse_. Its victims did not lose consciousness until all sanity was ripped off them and then they remained incurable mental cases until the end of their days. "_Crucio_!", he heard Riddle holler for the third and last time and somehow he knew that these were his last moments as a sane person……

But suddenly the pain had stopped! He found himself on the floor, still hurting very much, but the ever-intensifying tormenting pain had disappeared. Peter tried to open his eyes but his eyelids refused to obey the commands sent out by his brain. He was concentrating as he had never concentrated before in his life and with a last tremendous mental effort finally managed to open his eyes. He stared at the oak beams on the ceiling of the room and somehow knew that this was no use. He had to get up, he had to help Dumbledore, had to at least get to a position from where he could see. But by some instinct, he knew that he would not be able to move a single inch. "_We need rest, we need sleep_", his body and mind seemed to cry out to him. "_Close your eyes and rest!"_. "_No, not know",_ he wanted to shout in answer, but all he heard was a croaking sound from far away. 

Suddenly, he heard another voice shouting something like "_Accio!_". How he had done it, Peter did never find out, but he finally managed to turn and, through a red mist, took in the ghastly scene unfolding before his unbelieving eyes.

Dumbledore was on his feet again and somehow he must have gotten a wand back with that last spell. He stood facing the boy over Peter's body and raised it. "_Expelliarmus_!", he shouted. When the spell hit Riddle, he was lifted off his feet and slammed into the stone wall behind him, but he appeared unhurt and still held on to his wand tightly. "_Stupefy_!", Dumbledore roared, and the same jets of red light as before issued from his wand. They hit Riddle in the jest but had no other effect whatsoever. The boy was still on his feet, clutching Dumbledore's wand obstinately and the look of triumph had now returned to his face. 

'I have grown a hide, none of your childish spells can penetrate! And now…, now it is my turn Dumbledore! Now meet death you old fool!', shouted the boy  exultingly. Slowly, he raised his wand, ready to strike. Dumbledore remained calm, an almost serene expression on his face 'Remember what I always told you at Hogwarts, Tom?', he said quietly. 'The fact that a good wizard does not use dark magic doesn't mean that he cannot do so in the utmost need', he added. Riddle, listening, was following Dumbledore's every movement with half-shut but alert eyes. To Peter's horrified surprise, Dumbledore suddenly put his wand back into his belt and raised both hands. 'You leave me no choice, Tom, but a creature like you must not be permitted to continue along that path you have chosen for yourself". The room had suddenly become very dark and Peter heard Dumbledore shout something like "_Magna Mater, Magna Mater!_" in a sort of singing voice that increased and then decreased in volume in ever-shortening intervals. 

A deafening clap of thunder shook the entire room and the castle seemed to tremble from its highest pinnacle to the very foundations. In the flickering light of a stroke of red lightning, longer and brighter than anyone Peter had every seen, a large crack had suddenly appeared on the floor, which grew wider with every second. Peter looked at Riddle and, for the first time, saw something, resembling genuine fear on his face. The thunder crashed on indefinitely and the lighting became more and more frequent, while a strong scent of sulphur suddenly permeated the room. This was followed by an eerie, unearthly sound that resembled an ill-tuned harp being played far away. Suddenly large clouds of smoke issued from the chasm and -to Peter's horror- appeared to take on shapes. Peter looked at Dumbledore, who appeared to have grown taller by at least several feet. The wizard now radiated an aura of power, menace and invincibility that left no trace of the jovial, sympathetic young man Peter had met only this morning. Dumbledore's expression was stern and he also was staring fixedly at the smoke issuing from the chasm. Soon, Peter could distinguish three large shapes growing more and more solid and distinguishable every second. 

They appeared to be women dressed in clothes from antiquity, Peter could distinguish tunics and toga-like garments, but they were definitely not humans. He looked at the tallest of the shapes first. She appeared to have very thick, curly hair, waving in the howling wind that was now blowing from the chasm. Then, to his utter horror, he discovered that those were not hairs at all but writhing poisonous snakes. Forked tongues working incessantly back and forth in their mouths, showing large poisonous fangs, their hissing grew constantly louder. Peter shifted his gaze to the next apparition and suppressed a cry. He had never seen a face so devoid of any emotion or mercy. It was as if he was staring straight into the bottomless pits of hell! 

After some moments, pictures began to form in his mind, cold and dismal pictures of his parents. He saw a bedroom scene where a woman had obviously given birth, but now she lay motionless and dead, while distant cries of a newborn infant could be heard. Peter knew instantly that he was witnessing his own birth and he also felt that the spirit blamed him for his mother's death. Then, the scene shifted to a foggy graveyard. He could discern a pastor and some solitary mourners and knew, he was witnessing his father's funeral, which he had not attended! His tormented conscience caused him to lower his gaze, and the woman, to his immense relief, now turned her head towards Riddle. 

By now, all three spirits had quickly formed a silent and solid semi-circle around Riddle, staring straight at the boy. His mouth had fallen open in unconcealed horror as if he could not believe what he was witnessing, but he would not give up. Again, Peter heard the merciless words of the killing curse "_Avada Kedavra_!" being shouted as Riddle pointed his wand at the closest of the women. With an almost careless gesture, however, she caught the ball of green light in her right hand, where it shrank and disappeared like a snowball that has been placed on a red-hot iron stove. A howl of terror escaped Riddle's lips and he dropped his wand. All traces of menace and power had disappeared from his face! He was once more a teenage boy, staring in utmost horror at what was to come. 

Suddenly, torches, glittering in an evil red light, had appeared in the spirits' hands. Closing in on Riddle, they appeared to be stabbing them straight at his heart. Soon, the room was filled with shrieks, howls and sobs, Peter would have thought no human being capable of producing. It was worse than anything he had ever heard, including his own sounds when Riddle had subjected him to the _Cruciatus Curse_! It sounded as if the apparitions were slowly ripping Riddle's soul out piece by piece and Peter, unable to listen for a second longer, pressed both hands tightly over his ears, though it cost him the last ounce of strength he possessed. 

Slowly, he turned his head and looked at Dumbledore, who was watching the scene before is eyes in a cold and very detached way. But suddenly, he seemed to have decided that the thing had gone on long enough. He reached for his wand, pointed it in turn at the three apparitions and spoke words, Peter could at first not understand. Slowly, he took his hands from his ears and heard Dumbeldore's calm yet determined voice. "_Vade Retro Tisiphone! Vade Retro_!", "_Vade Retro Megaera! Vade Retro!_", "_Vade Retro Alecto! __Vade Retro!". _Peter could not tell, whether these words had any effect on the three ghastly women, but they did not bend over Riddle anymore. Instead, they had stood up and were now staring coldly and silently at Dumbledore, who, without blinking once, stared back at them. Peter could tell that Dumbledore did not control these apparitions, whatever they were! Rather, he had a nasty feeling that even Dumbledore would stand no chance against them, if they decided to turn on him instead. It was more as if Dumbledore was waging a silent and bitter argument on Riddle's behalf whose purpose Peter could not guess. 

An icy lump of dread began to form in his stomach and his mouth went dry. He knew, the apparitions would kill them all or worse, take Riddle, Dumbledore and himself down to where they had come from. There was no doubt that they wielded a power greater than any he had ever faced. Oh no! Now they were poising to strike! They would relight their torches any second now and then it would be over! 

Instead, the apparition with the merciless expression opened her mouth, but to Peter's surprise, no sound came from it. Rather, it was as if a cold thought suddenly shot through his mind. The language was Attic Greek, which Peter understood. "_You argue this murderer of kin's case well, frail human_", it seemed to say. "_Be it as you wish. We will leave him to human justice!"_

To his immense relief, the three tall figures became suddenly less distinguishable, next they turned back into the shapeless smoke clouds they had arrived as. One by one, they disappeared into the crack, the eerie music stopped and the chasm closed with a deafening thud. Light returned to the room and Peter, through one of the smashed windows, caught a glimpse of a blood-orange sun, rising before a towering wall of dark clouds. 

Riddle's uncontrollable sobs of horror could still be heard, though they had become less piercing and pronounced. Hands drawn closely over his eyes, he sat on the ground, slowly rocking back an forth,  not unlike the inmates of a lunatics' asylum. Peter had once seen. 

Dumbledore seemed to have shrunk to his normal size and now hurried to Peter's side to check, whether he was all right. At the same moment, three dark shapes jumped into the room. Horrified, Peter thought at first that the apparitions had returned but then, to his lasting relief, he could distinguish the faces of Harold Potter, Herbert Weasley and Robert McGonagall. All three had their wands out and were looking around the destroyed room with bewildered looks on their faces. As if on command, they were finally rushing towards Dumbledore and Peter. Herbert, however, tripped over a chair leg in his way and all three collapsed into a heap of robes and limbs on the floor.

After they had disentangled themselves, Harold Potter spoke first "_Albus, what in the name of god_……", but Dumbledore cut him off. "_The boy, guard the boy_!", he shouted on top of his voice, indicating the corner of the room next to the chimney were Riddle was still sitting. It was too late! Distantly, Peter could once more hear the sound of roaring flames and Dumbledore's cry of outrage. Tom Riddle had used the moment of confusion to get to his feet and jump headlong into the fireplace. Robert shot a stunner after him, but the only effect was that the chimney fire exploded with a deafening bang and covered those in the room with burning ashes. LORD VOLDEMORT had escaped! 

Shivering uncontrollably, Peter suddenly felt that he had reached the end of his rope. The memory of the pain of the _Cruciatus Curse_, which had been numbed at first now returned in full force. The red mist before his eyes became denser, changed its colour to slate grey and then black. He had a falling sensation and then he knew no more….. 


	8. A new beginning

**Chapter 8: A new beginning**

He reopened his eyes and distinguished three blobs hovering in his field of vision. Slowly, his sight shifted back into focus and at first, he thought that he had only been unconscious for several seconds because as before, he was looking at the faces of his four wizarding friends. But this couldn't be right! He was not on the floor any more, but in a hospital bed with clean sheets and a blanket! He turned his gaze and found that his bed was standing in a large room with stone walls, triangular Gothic windows and a huge Gothic ceiling. "_He is coming around_", he could hear someone whisper with an unmistakable tone of relief in his voice. All four wizards were positively beaming at him now.

'What…?', he started to say, but Dumbledore put a firm hand on his arm. 'You mustn't speak, Peter, you have been very sick for a long time and you are still very weak and need a lot of rest', he said kindly. But Peter was not to be told off like that. 'I want to know what happened', he insisted. Dumbledore gave a small sigh. 'It is not uncommon for victims of the _Cruciatus Curse_ to regain a state of fragile consciousness, before their mind finally tumbles into the abyss of insanity. That was what happened to you. After you had fallen unconscious, we thought you were either going to die instantly or had suffered mental damage beyond our help. Robert and Harold hastily swept the contents of Grindelwald's desk into a sack they had brought along, while Herbert and I stayed at your side, trying to stabilize you with every healing charm we knew, but it was no good. Your breathing grew shallower by the second and we had to act instantly.

We took you in our middle and disapparated as fast as we could and then brought you here.' 'But where am I?', asked Peter weakly. 'You are in the hospital wing of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Actually, St. Mungo's hospital for magical maladies and injuries would have been a better place, but we could not risk that. School nurse Mary Scapula, ably assisted by her apprentice Poppy Pomfrey, slowly brought you back to health, but it required all their skill and often we doubted, whether they would succeed.' 'How long have I been ill?', Peter asked. 'Today is May, 8th 1945!' replied Dumbledore, 'so you were in a coma for almost half a year, and I can't tell you how happy we all were, when you first began to stir about two hours ago.' Peter shook his head incredulously. 'Almost half a year!', he exclaimed. 'What's happening in the war?', he next inquired eagerly.

'Victory!', Dumbledore beamed back at him. 'This morning, Germany has surrendered unconditionally to the Allies and Russians! Church bells are ringing all over Britain and people are celebrating in the streets!', he continued, still smiling. Peter let his head sink back on his cushion. He could not believe it! Victory, the greatest threat to civilization had finally been defeated. He breathed a sigh of immense relief. 'You have played a great part in accomplishing this, Peter, first as a courageous muggle soldier and then by helping us. Without your invaluable help, we could not have defeated Grindelwald and the war would probably still be going on', Robert McGonagall now said, a note of approval and respect in his voice. Looking at him, Peter now realized for the first time that Robert had exchanged his Highland dress for a bowler head and a pin-stripped suit. He looked very odd in this clothing, but also carried a new kind of authority, Peter had not detected before.

'Grindelwald?', he said incredulously, '…. but it wasn't really Grindelwald, it was that boy…..'. Dumbledore, however, still holding his arm, suddenly intensified his grip and shook his head almost imperceptibly, so Peter fell silent. 'Still not entirely there, are you, Peter?', smiled Herbert Weasley. 'Very unfortunate that we let that assistant of Grindelwald's escape, but it doesn't matter in the great picture, does it now? We caught the main culprit and will track down that boy sooner or later, whoever he was.' Peter still understood nothing, but thought it best to follow Dumbledore's wish and remained quiet. 

'Naturally, we can never tell the muggles what you did, Peter', continued Robert McGonagall. All we could do was modify some memories, so the muggles won't be searching for you all over the place. For reasons, Dumbledore will explain later', he was casting a knowing look of mutual understanding at Dumbledore while he was saying this, 'the muggles think, you are dead. Actually you died in a car accident on your way to Aberdeen on the day we set off on our little quest!' 'Dead!!??', exclaimed Peter, 'But….'. Robert McGonagall silenced him with a gesture. 'As I said, the reasons will be explained later', he continued in a voice that sounded half-official and half-amused. 'Are you ready for a little ceremony?', he asked 'because the wizarding community can and will show you its gratitude and sincere appreciation of what you did'. All Peter could mange was a weak nod.

Robert then pulled a long roll of sealed parchment and a small ebony box from his robes, donned his glasses and began to read aloud in a very solemn voice. "_By the authority vested in me by the wizarding community, I, Robert McGonagall, 8th minister of magic, hereby award the Order of Merlin (First Class) to first lieutenant Peter Parkinson for outstanding services to wizardkind and unusual courage in the face of the Dark Arts. Furthermore, I declare him an honorary member of the wizarding community now and for all times. Given at the Ministry of Magic in London on March 31st 1945. Signed: Robert McGonagall, Minister of Magic, Herbert Weasley, Secretary for Muggle-Wizard Relations and Harold Potter, Head of Magical Law Enforcement." _Having finished, he opened the ebony box and took out a magnificent golden cross on a navy-blue band that was over and over encrusted with rubies and diamonds the size of dove-eggs. Bending down to Peter, he placed it around his neck, while Dumbledore, Harold and Herbert were applauding enthusiastically.

Peter could not believe his ears. 'You are Minister of Magic, Robert?', he asked in a failing incredulous voice, 'and Herbert is Secretary of…,but how….????' 'Fruits of our victory', replied Dumbledore, smiling mischievously. The parchments, potion ingredients and spell-books Robert and Harold brought back with them from Grindelwald's desk were enough to oust Malfoy and his followers from office. Not enough to arraign them in front of the wizard court perhaps, 'he sighed disappointedly, 'but enough to end their political careers. The day, we returned from Germany, I requested a little audience with Lucifer Malfoy and confronted him with our evidence! I am sure, he would have loved to kill me or sent me straight to Azkaban then and there, but instead he signed the letter of resignation which I had prepared in advance and now put before him. It stated that the situation of the muggle war no longer required the extraordinary powers granted to him and therefore abolished every single one of them, including that infamous _Neutrality Act_. You should have seen his face, when he read that'; Dumbledore chuckled, 'a Malfoy generally prefers giving up a limb to giving up power!'_ '_It also expressed his sincere desire to resign his office after five years of difficult times in order to spend more time in the country with his family and take a greater part in the education of his son Lucius. Octavian Snape, Lestrange, McNair and the others resigned the next day and also disappeared into the country -and good riddance to them, at long last!', he exclaimed happily. 'I had struck a deal with Malfoy: no official awards and recognition for their services in exchange for my dropping the committee to investigate their behaviour. This should make it impossible for them to ever re-enter politics', he added in a very satisfied tone. The rest was child's play. The new cabinet with Robert as Minister of Magic sailed through the Assembly in one hour without a single opposing vote and, I might add, to the immense relief of the entire wizarding community!' This piece of news left Peter speechless. Was he dreaming or was this real? It felt like the end of a fairy tale, but the wizards' faces told him, it was all true.

'We might even have a more solid case against Crabbe and Goyle', added Harold Potter eagerly. 'Those two idiots had their staff put everything they did in writing, so I think a thorough investigation of their conduct by the department of Magical Law Enforcement is called for', he said, grinning maliciously over both ears. Before Peter could ask any one of the hundreds of questions racing through his mind, however, the door opened and a young short little wizard in blues robes was pompously entering the room. 

'Ah Fudge, what is it?' asked Robert curtly, 'can't you see that we are busy here?' 'Ever so sorry', replied the short wizard bowing apologetically, 'but an owl has just arrived from London. Your presence and the presence of Messrs. Weasley and Potter is immediately required at the Ministry'. 'That's what you get for holding office', sighed Robert. 'I am beginning to think you knew what you were doing, when you refused point-blank to join my government, Albus', he added. 'Well. let's get going', he said to Herbert and Harold and both nodded their agreement. The small wizard had remained in the room, obviously hoping to eavesdrop on their conversation. 'Is there anything else, Fudge?' asked Harold tartly. 'No, of course not, ever so sorry', stammered Fudge, moving towards the door. 'Thank you then. You know Fudge, if you keep up the good work, I might even forget the pure-blood admission policy for Hogwarts, you drafted under my predecessor', said Herbert Weasley, grinning. The smile on the little wizard's face suddenly looked rather forced and resembled someone who had just taken a sip from a glass of milk gone sour. Bowing once more, he disappeared from the room. 

'Well Peter, this means good-bye for now', said Robert, but I am quite certain we will see each other again before long', he added, casting Dumbledore the same knowing and conspiratorial look as before. All three wizard office-holders vigorously shook Peter's hand once more and made for the door where Herbert Weasley turned and gave him a final wave, followed by the thumbs-up. 

For long time after they had left, Peter and Albus Dumbledore simply looked at each other in silence. Finally, Dumbledore began to speak. 'I know what you want to say, Peter, it looks as if we received our honours for the wrong thing', he said, pointing at his own Order of Merlin First Class, dangling from his neck. 'But we have accomplished what we set out to do and only that counts. The wizarding community is once more ruled by a democratic government and I am sure the three of them will do a wonderful job of restoring peace and happiness to all the sorcerers and witches in this country.' 

'But how is that possible with HIM still at large?', Peter asked quietly. 'We have to fight one battle at a time', replied Dumbledore, 'true, we let the most terrible dark wizard escape who has revealed himself for centuries, but I daresay, we have taught him a lesson he is not likely to forget anytime soon', he added with a slight shudder in his voice, obviously recalling events in the castle before the others had arrived. 'You know, I still marvel at his ability to recover so quickly and make a dash for it. Young as he is, his dark powers match anything I have ever seen, heard or read about. After what happened to him, most people would be either dead or completely insane without any hope of recovery, possessed by nothing but the will to commit suicide. He therefore remains a terrible menace to the world, but it will be some time before he dares show himself again among other wizards. Reliable sources of mine tell me that he has fled to the darkest parts of Africa to hide, but unfortunately, they were unable to find out his precise whereabouts or future plans.' 

Hoping to avoid the one remaining issue hovering between them a little longer, Peter now asked: 'Why didn't you tell your friends about him?' 'Oh', sighed Dumbledore almost puzzled, 'I thought that was obvious. Those three need to stay convinced the main threat is over and dealt with in order to accomplish what they plan to do, which is to restore the wizarding community to some peace by a sound system of government', he continued. 'They could not do that with the constant threat of a nearly invincible dark wizard appearing to terrorize the world at any moment. Therefore, it will be my job to guard wizardkind from behind the scenes to prepare for the day he reappears as he undoubtedly will.' 

'Moreover, they are very capable wizards who take great pride in their common sense, therefore I am not entirely sure they would believe us, even if we had told them the whole story. Imagine yourself, telling a fellow muggle that you had taken a stroll down the beach and suddenly met Napoleon. Even close friends of yours would have trouble with that, wouldn't they?' 'A teenage dark wizards with immense powers is something beyond most people's imagination, unless one experiences firsthand what he is capable of as you and I have done…..'

'Which brings us back to the main question who or what these apparitions…..', said Peter, his voice trailing off as if unsure he really wanted to know the answer. 'I think, you know enough Greek mythology to know the answer to that question', replied Dumbledore in a firm voice that made it quite clear that any further argument would be useless. 'Therefore, I suggest, we leave it at that', he continued, a final tone now in his voice. 'One more question', pleaded Peter, however. Dumbledore sighed resignedly and gave a brief nod indicating that he was listening. 

'Does what happened mean that you can always summon these things to defeat Riddle, if he should ever turn up again?' asked Peter hopefully. 'No, I am afraid not', replied Dumbledore sadly, 'I took a terrible risk in using that incantation. There are dark powers beyond any human's ability to control and they are one of them. Even their foul offspring, the Dementors of Azkaban, are more than a match for most wizards and the parents are incredibly more powerful and evil', he said shuddering. 'Remember how one of them dealt with the killing curse, Riddle shot at her? No, it was a desperate choice between certain death for us now at the hands of Riddle on the one hand or an _almost_ certain death or ….something even worse on the other' he added quietly. 'But in the second choice, there was some hope, whereas there was none whatsoever in the first! Riddle has killed members of his family and I gambled that the petty sins, you and I committed would be dwarfed by that. 'The _Er…_', he suddenly interrupted himself, then, after a brief pause went on '…THEY hate such murderers more than anything else as you well know, so I was certain they would turn on him instead of us! How I managed to persuade them to let go off him or why I even tried to do so, that I know not', Dumbledore murmured almost inaudibly. 'Yet there is hope in what happened', he continued, his eyes flashing brightly, 'you know, Peter, not many wizards are capable of performing that spell that summoned THEM! Truth be told, I might actually be the _only_ one who can do it, at least within the last two thousand years or so', he added with a barely concealed trace of pride in his voice. 'So unless Riddle finds out that I do not actually control …THEM, there is reason to hope he will fear that it might happen again and therefore think twice before attacking me again…And in that thought, there is some comfort, isn't there?' Dumbledore said 

'But I have answered all of your questions to the best of my knowledge now ,Peter', he continued, 'and frankly-speaking, I am quite tired at present of talking about dark wizards, terrors from antiquity or future threats to the world. I want to speak about happier things. Would it be all right with you, if I got myself a toffee from that inviting-looking box on your bedside table? I think, Herbert Weasley was kind enough to leave it there. Still pondering in his mind what he had just heard, Peter gave him an absent-minded nod. 'Ah', said Dumbledore delightedly, examining the box. '_Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans, _a recent invention by Honeydukes, I believe.' He put one of the beans in his mouth. 'Delicious', he beamed, 'lemon drops, my favourite flavour'. He took another one and suddenly choked, his face contorted into an expression of disgust. 'Arghhhh…!!!'. Hands before his mouth, Dumbledore ran towards the huge washing basin in the middle of the room and gulped down a mouthful of water, then spitting it out again. He repeated that exercise several times to Peter's bewildered astonishment. 'Vomit!', he finally choked, 'that bean tasted like vomit! There should be a boundary to what they can do', he cried out exasperatedly, slamming the box back on Peter's bedside table. Peter made a mental note of not touching that box, while he marvelled at Dumbledore's change from a powerful wizard who had just defeated the most evil threat to mankind he had ever seen, to the sympathetic and a bit-strange young man who delighted in sweets.

Dumbledore seemed to have recovered sufficiently to go on. 'Where was I, Peter?' he asked. 'Oh, yes, your future career. You know, it is not entirely true that I accepted no office from Robert. The four of us had a little chat and decided to at last send Armando Dippet into well-deserved retirement -fellow was actually quite happy with it', he continued. 'Anyway, I am now the new headmaster here and it has long been my sincere belief that wizards should know more about the muggles we are sharing this island with. It took some time persuading Robert and Harold, but finally they authorized me to offer you a position on the Hogwarts teaching staff. You would be professor for the newly-added subject of _Muggle Studies_ and I think there is no-one more capable to fill that slot than you!', he added, looking expectantly at Peter.

Professor at a magical school! It took Peter some time to get used to the idea. True, he had always enjoyed teaching, either as a tutor for underclassmen at school and later on in the military. But he knew so little about the wizarding world! He raised this concern with Dumbledore. 'You know, I would be delighted, Albus', he said, 'but will the kids accept me? Will they respect a teacher who can only perform a single hovering charm and knows less about the magical world than anyone of them?' 'I would not worry about that', replied Dumbledore. 'You see, there will be changes at this school. It is quite common that children with magical powers are born to muggle-parents, just think of your own case. And I plan to offer a Hogwarts education to anyone with magical abilities, regardless of whether their parents are muggle factory workers or old wizard nobility! Actually, I think a person like you would make it much easier for the former to get used to this place', he said seriously. 'And don't forget that you have considerable magic in you, albeit untrained and therefore undeveloped. It required very strong magic to wrench Riddle's wand from him with a simple hovering spell and you can take great pride in that accomplishment. Oh and there is one other thing', he added. 'Herbert Weasley has insisted on attending your classes for an entire year, supposedly because the new subject clearly falls under his responsibilities, though I daresay, he looked rather excited himself about the prospect of studying the muggles from someone with firsthand knowledge', he chuckled. 'This way, you will have a fully trained wizard at your side, if students should want to play magical tricks on you. So what do you think?' 

Without a word, Peter extended his right hand and Dumbledore, smiling, shook it vigorously to seal their agreement. 'But you'd better go back to sleep now, Peter', said Dumbledore, 'we have already put you through a lot, considering that you only woke up two hours ago, haven't we? Poppy Pomfrey just told me that you will have to stay in bed for at least another fortnight and still take it easy afterwards. But I expect you to have fully-recovered by September, 1st 1945 to welcome a new generation of students to Hogwarts.' Peter could tell, Dumbledore was right. He could barely keep his eyes open and nodded weakly. Soon, he was in a deep slumber that promised further healing and recovery. Smiling, Albus Dumbledore watched him for some time. Then he bent down and carefully removed the Order of Merlin, First Class from Peter's neck and placed it on the bedside table. A satisfied look on his face, he then left the room, careful to close the door quietly.

This is the story of how I became the first professor of "Muggle Studies" at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a position, I have now held for more than 45 years. Before I leave tomorrow, I felt it necessary to preserve these events of long-ago in writing for later generations.

Dumbledore and I have remained great friends and colleagues for all that time, and I owe everything I have achieved to him and his kindness. My proudest moment came in 1952, when I completed my N.E.W.T's (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests), having already scooped no less than ten  O.W.L's two years before, all thanks to the patient coaching of my friends Albus Dumbledore, Harold Potter, Robert McGonagall and in particular, Herbert Weasley. Thus my childhood dream of becoming a fully-trained wizard became finally true and I only wished Jenny could have still been around to share my joy. Though, I still mourn Harold's early death, he at least was still there and my party at the 'Three Broomsticks' was the last time, all four of us were together. 

Since then, I have Instructed countless students in muggle-culture and seen many of them grow up to be trusted colleagues like Robert's daughter Minerva or rise to important posts at the ministry like Herbert's son Arthur. I am particularly grateful that in my old age, I even had the pleasure of teaching some of their grandchildren, though I retain some reservations concerning that point in the case of Fred and George Weasley. I don't envy my colleagues who will have to put up with them during the next couple of years.

As was to be expected, a lot of things may happen in the course of almost half a century and not all of them were good. I fought on Dumbledore's side, when our worst fears became true and Lord Voldemort made his reappearance around 1970. I am still overcome by a great sadness thinking of these dark times and my quill quivers as I write this. Lily and James Potter were two of my favourite students and there is little comfort in the fact that their son Harry was responsible for Voldemort's eventual downfall. Apparently, Voldemort had not been listening too carefully to Dumbledore's words in that castle room so many years ago or he would have known what happened to one who used the killing curse on someone protected by the sacrifice of a parent. In my opinion, it is also possible, however, that he already considered himself invulnerable and beyond such threats at that time – and was proven wrong to our good fortune. 

Though I often think that we could have prevented all this, if we had not failed so badly at the end of our task, Dumbledore's words in the hospital wing proved correct. Even at the height of his power, Voldemort never dared setting foot into Hogwarts or confront Dumbledore directly. So our victory over Grindelwald was not entirely in vain, since we could organize our resistance from a safe haven and finally remained victorious, albeit at the cost of great human sacrifice. 

What grieves me most is the fact that many members of old wizarding families, many of whom I had known as students, joined Voldemort's ranks and contributed to his reign of terror by killing countless muggles. Apparently, their parents have not forgotten the defeat they suffered at Dumbledore's hands and have bequeathed their hatred to their children. Though, I should probably know better, I consider this a personal failure. At least I blame myself more than other teachers, since it was my job to increase mutual understanding between the wizard and muggle community. What the future will bring, none of us can tell, though I take great comfort in the brave courageous behaviour of Severus Snape. If things like that are still possible, there is hope for all of us, even should the dark lord  return one day.

I am now over 70 years old and tomorrow Harold Potter's orphaned grandson Harry will start his magical education at Hogwarts. Somehow, this seemed an appropriate time to go up to Dumbledore's office and hand in my letter of resignation. He accepted it silently and I could tell, he was saddened by it, but made no effort to dissuade me. After all, he is a very exceptional wizard unlike any other I have ever met. I expect him to carry on for many years and Harry Potter will be in his good care here at Hogwarts. 

Taking my leave of Dumbledore, I knew, there was either a lot to say or remain silent. We looked at each other for several minutes and chose the latter. I won't deny that some tears may have rolled down my cheeks on my way back to the office, but I knew I had taken the right decision. 

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, August, 31st 1991.

Peter Parkinson. 


End file.
